#college!bucky barnes

[marvelouslizzie]

Like Someone I Know

summary: You decide to take a break from studying and go to a masked party but your casual hookup turns out to be your biggest rival, Bucky Barnes.

pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

warnings: 18+, academic rivals, alcohol consumption, hidden identities, hookup, boob worship, semi-public sex, pet names, oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, dirty talk, praise kink, no mention of y/n.

word count: 2.4K

A/N: @notafunkiller gave me "I don't care if they're gonna see it. I'm not giving them back." and academic rivals as prompt and now here we are… I hope you enjoy this random story. Thanking Andreea also for the editing and for the name suggestion. She’s the best!

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

Keep reading tag starts after the second paragraph of the story.

This isn’t like you. You don’t find people attractive this easily, let alone hook up with them at a party, right after meeting them. It feels surreal… like you are having some kind of a fever dream. Maybe it’s because of the alcohol you consumed, but you don’t feel tipsy. So maybe not.

His hands roam on your body, hungrily discovering every inch. His lips are relentless, sucking and licking. It feels so damn good and it’s just so hard to resist. You deserve to let go sometimes. You work so hard, right? It’s okay to hook up with a handsome stranger. Well, you aren’t sure about the handsome part. Not when half of his face is covered by some kind of mask, but his piercing blue eyes tell you he might be the most handsome man you have ever seen. They also seem familiar somehow and you don’t know how that’s possible.

He stops kissing you, while his hands are still on your hips. He looks you in the eye, and it makes you shiver. You finally realize why he feels so familiar and it makes you uncomfortable. Those blue eyes… They remind you of Bucky Barnes. Why on earth would you find someone attractive because they look like him?

“Is everything alright?”

Even his voice… It sounds kinda like him. Not completely though. Bucky’s voice is usually harsher. He sounds like he’s trying to poison you with words. Especially when he makes fun of you after getting a better grade. God, you hate him so much.

“Yeah, yeah.” Your answer sounds so absent and not convincing at all.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I just realized you look like someone I know.”

“Oh, darling…” God, the way he smiles! There’s no way this man can be ugly. That smile punches you in your stomach. “There’s no way you know me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I would remember a beauty like you.”

That makes you laugh. It sounds so cheesy. Plus he can’t even see half of your face. How could he even remember you?

“I mean it.” 

“I’m sure you used that line on girls before.” 

“I can’t say…” He stops for a second, trying to find the right words. “I do this often.”

“You mean hooking up with strangers at a party?”

“No.” His answer confuses you for a second. “Hooking up at all.”

Oh, that can’t be true. Those blue eyes can convince anyone to do anything. Maybe he’s just trying to make you feel special, and truth be told, it doesn’t matter. You don’t know him. 

“Why is that?”

His hands caress your hips gently. “Usually… I don’t let myself get distracted.”

“Sorry for distracting you, then.” 

Your playful answer makes him smile. He starts kissing your neck. His hands move on your ass, kneading while he keeps on kissing you. His lips move closer and closer to your cleavage. You know this is your last chance to say anything if you don’t wanna go further, but you can’t find the strength in yourself to stop him. His lips are soft and wet on your skin. Every kiss he lays on your skin makes you want more. You don’t know if you can stop him. 

Suddenly he grabs your tits, pushing them together while he buries his head between them. It makes you gasp, and he inhales your scent like he can’t get enough of it. 

“I want them in my mouth.”

He looks up, his eyes pleading for your consent.

“Can I?”

“Someone might come in any time.” You don’t wanna get caught like that. “They might see us.”

"I don't care if they're gonna see it. I'm not giving them back." His response makes you smile. He sounds so desperate while still holding your tits. And like it isn’t enough, he starts to beg. “Please… Can I?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You sound breathy, just because of the anticipation. You just want to enjoy this moment, not thinking about anything else.

He pushes down the straps. He doesn’t even bother unclasping your bra. He just frees your tits and starts sucking on your nipple. Your head is thrown back with sudden pleasure. His tongue dances around your nipple, making you squirm.

“God, you are so delicious.” 

He switches to your other nipple. He licks, bites, and sucks while you try to keep your voice down. It’s not easy. A couple of moans slip away. You are just glad this is a party and the music is loud enough to conceal any sound you make.

Suddenly he lets go of your nipple. The wet pop makes you bite your lip. 

“I really need to taste you.” You give him a confused look. Isn’t he already doing that? “Down there.” He quickly adds.

You don’t know what to say. You expected a quick fuck at best, that’s what the girls told you. Don’t have high expectations for hookups. They end pretty quickly and you might end up unsatisfied. But he’s proving you wrong every step of the way.

He keeps looking at you with a glow. God, his eyes are so freaking beautiful! Even if you didn’t want that, it would be so hard to say no. You finally nod, giving him permission.

“Thank you.” He quickly gets on his knees and hikes up your dress. 

He starts to kiss your thighs, then he brings his nose onto your clothed pussy and just inhales.

“You smell so freaking good, d-darling.”

The praise makes you shiver. Not just because you aren’t used to it, but he also sounds so much like Bucky when he says darling. He calls you doll in a way that makes you feel degraded. Like you’re nothing more than a beautiful doll. No brains. No talent. Just there to look pretty. But this time… It doesn’t make you feel small. It makes you feel like a goddess.

Your shivering doesn’t go unnoticed, though. He smiles like a devil, looking into your eyes. Then he grabs your underwear and just pushes it down. You feel unbelievably exposed. Your breasts are sticking out of your dress while your pussy is right in front of him. But the hunger on his face makes you feel better.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He licks his lips before diving in. He grabs one of your legs and hikes it up on his shoulder, creating more space for himself to work. 

He starts you eat you eagerly. His tongue moves smoothly between your folds and he sets a pace that makes it harder to shut your mouth. His tongue discovers every inch of you. Then suddenly he switches on sucking your clit, making you moan loudly.

“Jesus fucking christ!”

You feel him smile as he stops sucking for a second. His hands reach for your hips, steadying you while he goes back to sucking your clit. Once again your head is thrown back. You try to steady your breathing, but it doesn’t work. Your orgasm comes crashing in.

“Fuckk! I’m coming!” You don’t realize how loud you say it. You don’t realize how harshly you grab his hair and make him moan against your clit. Yet he doesn’t stop. Not until your shaking calms down.

The moment he’s sure you rode out every last bit of your orgasm, he moves away from you. When he looks up, he realizes your mask moved a little bit. Just enough to make him recognize who you are. His eyes are wide open, but you don’t notice any of it. You are still breathing heavily, trying to collect yourself.

He suddenly stands up and places his hands on the wall, caging you in. He looks like he wants to say something, but he can’t find the words. You assume it’s because of his unmet needs. So instead of questioning him, you move your hands to his pants. He watches you unbuckling and unzipping him. Then you look back at his face, silently asking for permission, and he nods.

You get rid of his pants and boxers with his help before he grabs his cock like he’s getting ready. Your words, though, stop him.

“We are not doing this without a condom.”

You don’t know what you expected, but you didn’t expect him to smile.

“Smart girl.”

The way he says that turns you on even more. The only problem is that he starts to sound more and more like Bucky. While you are trying to push away the thought of your biggest rival, he takes his wallet out and finds a condom.

“You don’t do this often, but you have a condom in your wallet.” You can’t help but point out.

“Every guy has one in their wallet. Just in case…” He responds while putting on the condom. “Doesn’t mean we think we’ll get lucky.”

“Well, you are certainly getting lucky tonight.”

“Oh, don’t I know it?”

He suddenly lifts you up against the wall. It’s so unexpected, yet it makes your blood rush. His lips find yours once again, but this time, it feels different. You don’t know what changed. You can’t put your finger on it. It was already passionate, hungry, and curious before, but this time… It’s just on another level. 

“Ready?” You know what he’s asking about.

“Yeah.” You find yourself nodding and he smiles.

“That eager, huh?” His voice is deep and full of impatience, but also some kind of belittlement. God, that Bucky really messed up with your head. 

He doesn’t wait for your answer. He gently pushes himself inside you, and you can’t help but moan out loud. A part of you feels embarrassed that you can’t seem to shut your mouth. You’re not used to this. It makes you feel exposed.

“Yes!” He sounds like he accomplished the most important thing in the world. “Don’t hold back those pretty sounds.”

You don’t know what to say, all you can focus on is the way his words make you wetter and wetter. You feel like you are discovering a part of you that you didn’t know existed. Maybe all you need is to hear how good you are doing. Is it why you are working this hard to get the best grades possible?

He doesn’t let you question more about yourself when he finally starts to move. It feels so overwhelming that you forget about anything else.

“Oh god…” He moans right next to your ear as his fingers are gripping on your skin. “You are so wet, doll.” You freeze. What did he just say?

“Bucky?”

Your heart starts to race faster than before. You don’t know what you are feeling. Shock, fear, excitement… This might be your worst nightmare. Or your biggest dream. 

“I swear to god,” he starts to talk with haste, trying to explain himself before you get the wrong idea. “I didn’t know it was you. You have to believe me.” The fear in his voice is so audible. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him fearing something like this before. “After your first orgasm,your mask slipped a little.”

You suddenly feel relief washing over you. You felt so dumb for a second, thinking he might have tricked you. Knowing he’s afraid just like you helps a lot. He didn’t plan this. Maybe it's just a twist of fate. You reach for his mask and take it off without saying anything. There’s no need for it anymore. He smiles in response. You can see he wants to do the same, but he’s still carrying you, so you take off your own mask, too

 He looks into your eyes, trying to see if you are still okay with this. 

“Come on, big guy, move!”

His devilish grin returns. He bounces you on his arms, securing your position, and then starts to move again. His lips find yours, and you moan into his mouth. You can’t believe you are actually having sex with Bucky Barnes. You have had a couple of wet dreams about him, but you never thought it would turn into reality. You never thought he would be into you. He starts to lose control and move faster than before. 

“Oh shit!” You feel like you might come soon. “Faster. Please!”

“So needy.” He grips on your ass. You don’t know why but his words rub you the wrong way.

“Don’t belittle me.” You snap back, and it makes him stop. You frown, thinking he’s gonna get you off and leave you unsatisfied.

“I never belittle you.” He’s looking into your eyes. “I never meant to belittle you.”

“You are not?” You always thought he was. You thought he was trying to put you down, demotivate you. Even if he was saying something nice.

“Never, doll. You are the smartest person I have ever met.”

You never heard him say this before. Maybe he just didn’t want to admit it back then. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“And the prettiest girl.” 

You crash your lips onto his, kissing him like you can’t survive without it. You had no idea how much you wanted to hear something like this coming from him. He moans into your mouth while he starts to move again.

“I don’t think-” He sounds so pained. “I can- hold back any longer.”

You’re not so far away from reaching your climax. All you need is him moving just a bit harder, then you might be able to come with him.

“Please, come with me!” You don’t care how desperate it sounds. “I just need it a little harder.”

That breaks his defense. He starts to move so fast that it takes your breath away. After a couple of thrusts, your body starts to shake uncontrollably.

“Bucky!” You can’t stay silent. “I’m- coming.”

“Come for me, doll. Make a mess.” His thrusts grow sloppier. You can see he’s losing control because of you. “So fucking pretty. Can’t believe I get to see you like this.” You are sure his grip on your ass will leave some bruises, but you don’t care. It feels so good. He makes you feel so good. “Oh fuck!” 

He looks so pretty while he’s coming. The way he moans… The way his eyes flutter with each thrust… You watch every detail while coming yourself, wanting to memorize it. 

Then he opens his eyes. His pretty blue eyes shine in a way that feels warm, cozy, and downright giddy.

“I can’t believe we really did that.” He’s still holding you. You wonder how that is even possible. You always thought he looked strong, but this is on another level.

“Now tell me,” You sound confident and satisfied. “For how long did you want to do that?”

He chuckles in a way that makes you feel needy all over again.

“Oh, you have no idea.” 

[lovelybarnes]

Flirting and Football- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: past assault of reader, as slow burn as i can, au so bucky is different although i tried to not make him so ooc, sort of enemies to lovers?, genuinely can’t remember anymore, crappy writing in the beginning because i started writing this a year ago but i swear it gets better i promise About: request!! Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically

The end of your pen rests between your lips, unused as you scan the textbook page in front of you, your eyes thinning occasionally as you read. Your study partner’s book lays open in front of her, ten pages behind, and notebook adorned with two sole words.

She’s reciting the events of a date she went on yesterday or the day before, although admittedly, you’d only caught detached words for the past double-digit minutes. Your careful attention had dwindled down to nods as you subtly tapped at your notebook, then not-so-subtly and finally disappeared altogether as you made miscellaneous noises. 

You hum along now, eyes flickering from your notes to the material as you annotate pages with bright sticky notes.

She doesn’t seem to notice your disinterest, gushing about arms and hair, and the kiss that changed her life. The words don’t last too long in your mind, too cluttered with equations and vocabulary to make space for them.

“The girls told me he goes on a lot of dates but I can just tell I’m the one.”

You glance at your open computer, frowning at the slimming battery life, and purse your lips at the time. Sighing softly, you meet Quinn’s glazed eyes, offering her a tight smile you hope is somewhat believable.

“Is he in psychology too?” you ask, tapping on the notes the both of you were supposed to start when she began talking.

“Bucky? Oh no,” she laughs, the finger twirling her red hair pulling away to wave her hand dismissively. “He’s in sports or something. He's on the soccer team, you know.”

You nod. “Wow.”

“I know, oh my god.” She fans herself. “Did I tell you he basically won the last game?”

Probably. You duck your chin, highlighting a sentence. “Isn’t it a group effort?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah, but he scored the winning goal.”

“Okay then,” you agree, deciding that you can finish your notes at your dorm. “I didn’t go to the last game, so what do I know?”

Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t go?” she exclaims, and you shush her, confirming. “Why?”

You shrug. “I had to do something.”

“You have to go to the next one tomorrow and see him in action. But don’t fall in love,” she warns with a giggle. “He’s mine.”

“Promise,” you reply hollowly, shutting your laptop. “Well, I have to go. This was helpful, though,” you lie.

“Oh, yeah, totally. I have to go too, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Gotta be there early to support Bucky,” Quinn informs. You stack your books to carry them back to your dorm.

“Right,” you respond, standing. “I hope everything goes well with him,” you say as you walk out.

She shoots you a big grin and a nod, her face bright as she agrees.

It’s cold when you step through the doors, bouncing on your feet and hugging your things closer to your chest as you begin to walk toward your dorm. You move to pull out your phone from your back pocket, quickly unlocking it to get to your contacts list. You press on Bruce’s contact and listen to the two beeps until he picks up.

“I hate you so much right now,” you greet, cutting his cheery hello off.

“What? What did I do?”

“‘I’ll be there!’ ‘How could I miss studying physics?’” you mock, imitating his voice. “You left me there, and I was stuck listening to Quinn's monologue about how the quarterback or whatever is the love of her life!”

“What quarterback?” Bruce asks.

“Does it matter? Honestly?” you rebut, taking care to watch your surroundings as you bully your friend. “Your quarterback wouldn’t cheat on you so I’m assuming it’s one that’s not Thor.”

“Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry about ditching you. Thor and I just finished, we can come by and pick you up at the library. And Thor is a defender. Different sport entirely.”

“Whatever and ew,” you complain. “And I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“What? I told you to not walk home alone. Just wait for me.”

“Don’t worry. The dorm isn’t that far and you’re not exactly the most threatening anyway,” you remind. “I’ll be fine. ”

“Fine. Keep me on the line and be careful,” Bruce tells you.

“Of course,” you quip. A pause drapes over the two of you, the silence only interrupted by the steady sound of your footsteps on the concrete. You turn, leaves crunching underneath your shoes and you can practically hear Bruce relax somewhat, knowing that you’re nearby. You put him on speaker to hear better. “How’d it go with Thor today?”

“Really good.” The golden thread of happiness threaded through Bruce’s words comes through clear and clean. You can imagine him as he talks into the phone, glancing at Thor to make sure he can’t hear as he plays with his fingers. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there.”

“You’re not,” you amend. “But it’s fine. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Bruce confirms.

“I don’t know how you find the time to juggle everything. It’s kind of terrifying,” you laugh, expecting him to tease you back, but his answer comes back honest.

“I know you think of boyfriends and whatever as distractions, but it’s the opposite. It’s not juggling if I have help carrying everything.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, listening to the rustling of the trees. You grab your keys as you arrive at your dorm door. “I’m here.”

“Finally.” You roll your eyes, opening the door to see your roommate and her brother inside.

“Hey Wanda, Piet.”

Wanda smiles at you and Pietro winks before greeting Bruce through your phone.

“Okay, Bruce, are we studying tomorrow?” you ask him, balancing your things in your arms. When Pietro notices, he stands, taking your books from you and setting them down on your table. You thank him and pat his arm.

“Before the game? Sure,” he replies. You take him off speaker, pulling your phone to your ear, not noticing that the mention of the game has caught Pietro and Wanda's attention.

“You’re going?” you question. “I thought Thor was benched.”

“He’s off!” There’s a whoop you recognize as Thor’s that makes you smile. “Which is why it’s an important game we need to go to.”

“We?” you echo.

“We as in you and I,” Bruce verifies.

“Wait, I have to go too? Why?” you whine.

Pietro cuts in, “You have to go! How will we win without our lucky charm?”

You purse your lips and squint at him. “Didn’t you guys win last game?”

“Still! Come on, please,” he insists. Wanda joins in, offering to bake you cookies.

You search your brain for excuses. “I have things to do.”

“If it’s not ‘stay home and binge a series,’ I'll let you skip,” Bruce chimes.

You frown as the siblings grin.

“Yeah, you’re going,” Bruce declares. “They’re not that bad and you know it. Besides, Thor wants you to braid his hair. You know my fingers always get tangled.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I want it noted that it’s only because I really like cookies.” You focus on Wanda, who nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce repeats your words before you hang up, and at the click, you let yourself fall on your couch.

Wanda kisses your head and pats your shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Standing in the middle of students I don’t know as they yell at a ball does not sound fun to me,” you disagree, but she ignores you.

“Even Vis is going,” she argues. “And you know how excited Thor gets when you braid his hair.”

You mutter incoherently.

“We’ll leave at three,” she instructs with a smile.

-

“I could be doing so many useful things right now,” you hiss at Bruce, remembering the half-written essay you have saved on your laptop, a string of frustratedly typed letters highlighted and waiting to be replaced with something coherent typed just beneath it.

Bruce had made you leave just as you began to taste the word you were looking for, assuring you that going out to see a game would somehow give your fried mind the jolt it needed. With little argument and the promise you’d committed to with a hook of your pinkie, you’d sighed and shut your laptop, leaving your apartment early to see the team before the game.

You could recognize some faces thanks to Pietro forcing you out to a few team celebrations and the occasional game you never paid much attention to. Although he’d laid off a while ago when Bruce and Thor started dating, your best friend had dragged you to every soccer-related event he didn’t want to go to alone. Pietro never minded your absence as much as Bruce did, always satisfied as long as you celebrated or consoled him afterward.

The word you’d been wracking your brain for suddenly comes to mind when you sit next to Bruce on a bench, pulling your phone out of your pocket to note it down, not noticing when the entire soccer team begins to leave the locker room, spilling into the hall where you’re slumped with your best friend.

Thor bellows your name excitedly when he spots you both, heading over. You glance up to give him a smile, quickly continuing to type the stray thoughts you’d been trying to catch when he turns, an extravagant arm extending as if to present you to the few guys with him. “This is the lovely lady I told you all about. She is very smart.”

You laugh at his introduction, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Thank you, Thor.”

“Of course! And you all know Bruce, of course.”

There are chimes of agreement and greetings for your friend, a few of the players coming up to you. Pietro arrives first, as always, and pecks your forehead. “I, for one, am very glad you came to cheer us on.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” another says, huge and blonde, but his features are softened by an open grin. “I’m Steve.” He juts a finger at the brunet next to him, his hair tied up into a neat little bun at the nape of his neck, blue eyes shining as they observe you. “That’s Bucky.”

You smile at them, nodding. “Nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

You stare at him blankly, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. “I meant Steve.” Steve looks startled. “I saw his work when I was volunteering at the art show last month. It was great, I actually bought the piece with the lilies!”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks blankly, tongue poking into his cheek before he clears his throat and manages a lift of the left edge of his lips. “‘Makes sense someone so pretty would have good taste.”

You stare silently at him for a second, relieved when Steve’s surprise takes a second to process.

“Wait, me?” Steve points stupidly at himself. “My art?”

“It was amazing, I couldn’t let it slip by!”

“I told you,” Bucky tells him, elbowing his arm. He, unlike the other players, wears a dark sleeve over the entirety of his left arm, all the way up to his fingers. His fingertips, jagged pink, peek out. “I wish you woulda let me go. I could’ve seen the art and met her sooner.”

His friend sends him a furtive glance. “Is this your first time coming to a game?” Steve wonders as he turns back to you. 

You shake your head. “Pietro is my roommate’s brother and Thor’s my best friend’s boyfriend. They drag me here when they feel like it, but it’s my first time being back here.” You gesture to the hall. “I’m usually a little late because Bruce drives like a grandmother.”

Bruce sighs, sending you a short glance that you respond to with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

Blue eyes nods, careful to give you his full attention. “Well, I think you should come around more often.”

You scan him for a second. “Why?” you ask genuinely.

He pauses as he begins to explain, eyes pinched in confusion before Thor’s booming voice cuts him off, reminding you that you need to braid his hair. You give them a final smile before standing. “Duty calls, I guess.”

“So you’ll come around?” He calls after you, frowning when you respond with a transparent smile and ingenuine thumbs up. “Huh,” he says.

“What?” Steve responds, a little slowly, knowingly. He knows well what is making Bucky’s features crease in that way, but he’d prefer hearing it from his friend’s mouth.

“Just… wondering why I’d never seen her before. Pretty.”

“Uh huh.” Steve nods disbelievingly. Knowing he isn’t going to be able to push it out of his friend, he begins to walk toward the field, not waiting up for Bucky, the man caught up in his thoughts. “‘Thought it was because the line didn’t work,” he finally tells him, catching Bucky’s attention.

“What’re you talkin’ about, punk? What line?”

Steve snickers. “Any of ‘em.”

-

The next time Bucky sees you is across the courtyard, arms wrapped around books, your fingers curved protectively around the edges of your laptop. You struggle as you talk to someone he recognizes, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet as you reach to brush strands of hair away from your eyes.

Why you don’t have a backpack like every other person is beyond him, but it’s the last thing on his mind when your eyes meet his and you smile and wave. Yeah, he knows how to handle this—the attention, the blushing, the flattery.

The hand he raises to wave back freezes awkwardly when he realizes your attention isn’t on him, but rather following something behind his shoulder. His hand lowers as he feels Pietro brush past him and over to you, Wanda following close by. She catches Bucky’s actions and sends him an amused look.

You accept the kiss Pietro drops on your forehead and greet Wanda excitedly, too busy chatting with her to notice the two pens that slip from your pile.

Bucky sniffs, tugging his varsity jacket tighter and deciding to embrace his mistake, walks over to you.

“Hey,” he greets, your name coming out like silk, shooting you a smile. He bends down to pick up your pens, handing them to you with a cajoling rise of his lips.

You return it a pause later. “Hey, um—thanks…” you struggle for a second before you’re cut off.

“Bucky!” the classmate that you were talking to exclaims, and Bucky realizes it’s Quinn, the girl he’d gone out on a date with a while ago. “I saw you on the field yesterday,” she tells him, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You were amazing.”

“I appreciate it,” he thanks her, his eyes flickering back to you for a second, spotting you beginning to step away with a short wave and an elbow to Wanda's side. “I should go, I needed to talk to her,” he starts, acting quickly. “But it was nice to see you again. You look great, I like your necklace.”

Quinn’s fingers reach to pinch at the pendant on her chain, tilting her head at Bucky as she beams. “Thank you!”

Bucky nods, turning to find you gone. He looks around, surprised, but finally catches sight of you turning a corner with your friends. Before he can head toward you, Quinn catches his arm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?” She smiles at him, eyes wide and shiny.

He winces, forcing himself to not glance back at you. “You’re a really great girl, Quinn, but I don’t think we’d work out. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, not returning the apologetic smile he sends her. He twists his lips and apologizes again before jogging over to you, slowing to match your pace when he finally catches up.

“Hey again,” he quips, offering you a smile. You return it kindly, twirling your pens between your fingers.

“Hey, Bucky.” Probably accidentally, you enunciate his name in a way that makes him realize you didn’t remember it when he came up to you earlier, and he bites back an embarrassed blush. “It was a good game yesterday.”

“Thank you,” he replies easily. “How was I?”

You cock your head at him. “Fine? You… were a soccer player.”

Pietro laughs, pulling you closer. “He’s asking if he lived up to the stories,” he clarifies, shooting Bucky a look. “‘Does another pretty girl think I’m great too?’” he mocks, the imitation edged in his accent.

You hum in understanding, turning back to Bucky. “Stories?” you echo. Your features bear no likeness to the pull Bucky is used to with girls, nothing implying the agreement or validation he’s usually welcomed with.

“Oh, you know,” Bucky starts with a nonchalant shrug, “of the ‘insane stamina’ and ‘could totally carry a bus’ variety. You know, the ‘Winter Soldier’ name.”

Your eyebrows raise. “‘Winter Soldier?’” you repeat, words bolded in an unconscious drama.

“’S my nickname,” Bucky explains sheepishly. You continue to stare at him for a second before cracking a smile.

“Bucky Barnes, right?” you ask him. He pushes his tongue against his cheek at the blow to his ego and nods. “Which one were you again? All the uniforms are the same, I can only recognize Thor and Piet.”

Pietro hoots. “Fifteen, baby!”

Bucky eyes you, his cheeks pulling with an amused lilt. “You wound me, doll.”

“I wound you?” you giggle, unable to help it. “This is our first conversation and I have the power to wound you. I don’t know how I feel about having this power over a stranger.”

Bucky gasps, reaching out to grab your hand with his ungloved hand and wrap it around an invisible knife to plunge it into his chest. He chokes as he mimes nursing his wound. “Just digging it in deeper, aren’t you? Vixen.”

“Oh, come on, you expect me to have learned your number after knowing you for five minutes?” you exclaim with mild indignance, a whisper of amusement betraying it. You click your tongue. “You were fine, I’m sure,” you respond finally. Wanda jabs an elbow into your arm and whispers something to you. Your eyes light up. “Oh, you’re seventeen! The ball hogger! You do realize you’re in a team, right?”

Pietro claps, nodding approvingly at you. “And me, little flower?”

You roll your eyes. “You were fast. Like always.”

“That’s code for ‘the best out there,’” Pietro tells Bucky.

“I think the code for that is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky retorts, turning back to you. “‘Got a favorite player yet?” He asks you.

You tilt a brow at him. “On the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms.

“Based off of what?” You counter.

“Anything.”

“Oh.” You think. “Then no.”

Pietro clears his throat loudly.

“What if I get you the best seat possible next game?” Bucky offers.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m good where I am.”

“She barely pays attention anyway,” Wanda informs. “All she does is complain.”

You nod. “And I can do that in any seat.”

“Alright… what if you wear my jersey at the next game?” Bucky continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re convincing me, right?”

“You should be swooning right now,” Bucky argues accusingly, but his words are tinged with a grin.

“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan, placing a hand on your chest and rocking on your heels. You flutter your lashes at him and melt your lips into a watery smile. “Oh my, golly! Benson’s sweaty jersey!”

“Bucky,” Bucky grumbles. “Bucky’s sweaty jersey.”

“Right,” you reply with an attentive nod, laughing quietly. Your attention is drawn by another building and you turn. “I gotta go, but please keep the jersey far away from me.” You point at Bucky and then wave at Wanda and Pietro. “I’ll see you guys around.”

“Me too!” Bucky shouts after you. You only reply with a thumbs up Bucky can tell is sarcastic even if he can’t see your face, slipping past a closing door. Bucky purses his lips, looking after you. “Huh.”

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, and Pietro's laughter bubbles from behind him. “Nice work,” he lies.

-

Entirely suddenly, your mind feels vignetted with inky stress. You suppose it was predictable, having ignored the weight your responsibilities had lain on your shoulders for as long as you had, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. You blink slowly at your document in a lousy attempt to soothe yourself, feeling as though you were staring at it through a tunnel.

You yawn as you splay yourself out on your bed, stretching your legs out as far as you can. Your fingertips brush your pillows as you let your eyelids fall closed for just a second, thoughts and reminders of the rest of the things you need to do lining your entrance to sleep, but the door is so inviting, the red tape of your to-do list blurring.

Your ringtone cuts in when you begin to reason with yourself, back straightening fast enough to give you whiplash when you open your eyes again. Your hand slams around your phone, blinking fast as you read Bruce’s contact name.

“The thing,” you mumble, remembering Bruce’s insistence that you went to something. You answer his call and fight to not let yourself fall back on your bed, free fingers moving to rub at your temple.

“Hey, are you ready?” Bruce asks, the sounds of conversation in the background.

“Sure,” you answer tiredly, looking down at yourself. Whoever it is you’re going out with can’t be too picky. “Ready for what again?”

“The team’s win? We’re going out to eat at an actual restaurant and everything.”

You purse your lips. “Are we going to a bar?”

There’s a moment of silence on his end, only highlighted by the muffled voices that converse. “...No.”

Nodding earnestly, you stand, stretching and shaking your limbs out in an attempt to wake yourself up, but the attempt is mocked when you yawn once again. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and wince, tilting your chin up to get another angle. “Then, yes, I’m ready. I guess.”

“That's great!” Bruce praises. “Because we are outside.”

You frown, grabbing a hair tie from your dresser before walking out of your room, surprised to see your apartment empty. “We?” you repeat as you look around, confused. “Are Wan and Pietro with you?”

“They’re probably already there. And ‘we’ as in I picked up Thor, Steve, and Bucky.”

You grunt in response, shutting off the lights and plucking your keys from the counter before locking up.

“You know Bucky. He’s not that bad.”

There are sounds of protest and you catch an offended ‘that bad?’ before you hang up, waving to Bruce’s car. The door to the back opens before you can touch the handle, a grinning face and shiny blue eyes welcoming you. “Hey, doll, you look great.”

“Bunny,” you greet, ducking your chin in a nod. Bucky gets out of the car, extending a hand to invite you inside.

“I don’t mind that one.” Bucky winks.

You shake your head, crawling inside and saying hi to Steve, nose wrinkling when you realize you’ll be sandwiched between the two guys, and turning when you notice Bucky getting in again. You tug on your seatbelt with a polite smile to Steve, bumping into hard muscle when you aim for the buckle.

“You tryna cop a feel? Could’ve just asked,” Bucky tells you, bumping you gently.

“Oh please,” you scoff, poking him with the metal thing. “Excuse me, seatbelt. Bruce isn’t that great of a driver. He’s in his twenties and gets night blindness.”

Bucky pats your hand gently and takes the belt from you, clicking it into place for you.

“Nice and safe, don’t worry, doll.”

You set your lips into a thin line and look straight ahead, pushing your phone into the space between your thighs so you don’t lose it. “How’d you do on your Norse mythology exam, Thor?” you ask, recalling the nerves with which he’d told you about it a couple of days ago.

“Wonderful! I really enjoy the subject. Thank you for helping me study,” Thor replies cheerily.

“You didn’t even need to,” you assure, stifling a yawn. Bucky frowns.

“Did you get some sleep?” Bruce wonders, eyeing you at a red light.

“Yeah, I drank some coffee,” you respond.

“Not the same thing. Not even close.”

You laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you promise. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m always worried,” Bruce grumbles.

“Hey, how was art today?” you ask Steve, nudging his arm gently. Bucky’s brows furrow, urging Steve to look at him and read his mind with an intense stare. Steve does not.

“You were right. I was being too judgemental,” Steve sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Listened to who?” Bucky buts in. “How did you know Stevie had art today?” he continues, trying to keep his tone light.

“We talk.” You shrug. 

“Oh,” Bucky starts, glaring at Steve. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You nod before actually yawning that time. “I’m sorry.”

“You should sleep more,” Bucky comments, watching you shake your head wearily.

“I have things to do,” you defend. “I sleep enough, it’s the stupid car ride, I always fall asleep in cars,” you defend. “But if it pleases you, I’ll sleep the entirety of tomorrow.” Your voice lacks the thick sleeve of satire you tend to use with him, more vulnerable in your exhaustion. Although your request is still sarcastic, Bucky can tell you know you need it.

“It will,” Bucky says.

For the most part, the conversation ends there, the group splitting into their own things during the car ride. After a few minutes, Bucky feels your head fall softly on his shoulder.

He stops paying attention to what Thor is saying, instead focusing on the way you edge toward him in your sleep, nudging your nose into his shoulder. He can see the way your lashes lay on your cheeks when you’re so close and the pretty bridge of your nose.

You’re more open than he’s ever seen you, eyes shut and lips parted with gentle breaths, and he can’t stop staring at you.

Then the car goes over a harsh bump, and Bucky wants to do everything he can to hold you still, but your eyes flutter open and you sit up, meeting his eyes for a second. “Sorry.”

“It's no problem,” Bucky assures, wanting to keep examining the lines of your face, but you clear your throat, looking forward, and Bucky has no choice but to do so too.

-

The surprise Bucky feels when he spots you at the celebration party is no match for the sweet excitement at the bottom of his stomach, immediately pulling his sleeve further down over his arm and brushing away loose strands of his hair. It would be embarrassing how much he cares about what you think of him if it weren’t so ridiculously important to him.

He busies himself with getting a drink for you, finding himself wondering if you’d come before, only to go unnoticed by him. There’s a startling burst of anger at himself with the thought, and Bucky blinks, eyes continuing to drift to you. Resolute, he moves toward you but pauses as he observes you.

The look on your face is one Bucky has never seen before—though he hasn’t seen many looks on your face before—but it settles so naturally on your features that it is difficult to argue that it’s unfamiliar. You look intense, but the way your eyes scan Wanda's boyfriend—who’s been dubbed Vision—is dangerous. Cocky.

You say something and your entire face relaxes resolutely, but your eyes remain expectant and arrogant, unamused with your companion’s reply.

Vision—who Bucky has heard is never wrong—sure seems wrong in whatever argument he’s just lost against you, and you know it.

“How’re my favorite geniuses?” Wanda pipes up suddenly, forcing Bucky’s daze away, appearing from an unknown place to sling an arm around you. You snap out of the look, your face softening, but the pleasure of being right dances across your features. Bucky clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer, stepping toward you.

“Oh, you know, out-geniusing the other,” you reply, glancing at Bucky as he walks up behind Vision.

“Hey Dolly,” he smiles. “I thought you had too many books to read to go out.”

“I finished them all,” you respond. “And ‘Dolly’? How old are you?”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “What would you prefer, sweetheart?”

“My name,” you state, then squint at him, cocking your head. “Do you remember it? I imagine it’s hard to keep track.”

“Of course I remember.” Bucky scoffs. “I don’t think I could forget.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Right, I’d imagine asking her out to swing dance without it would be pretty hard.”

“Are you asking me to swing dance with you?” Bucky retorts.

You snort. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky holds out his hand expectantly, covered arm at his side.

Your eyes thin resolutely at him, scrutinizing the details of his face before you shake your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you criticise.

His hand drops and he pouts. “C’mon, pretty please.”

“Do you know what music you swing dance to?” you ask him, wagging a finger to refer to the booming music drowning most sounds inside the house. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I need to take advantage of the fact that you’re here, doll. You said so yourself you don’t go out much,” he complains. 

“Yeah, this is why!” you reply, your last words getting louder as the music impossibly gains volume.

“What?!” Bucky shouts, moving closer to hear you better, but you laugh and shake your head, telling him something he can’t make out. When you realize he can’t hear you, you give him a pout.

“And I was just about to say yes,” you say sadly.

“Wha—” Bucky’s cut off by the sharp shattering of glass. With a cringe, your eyes widen as you look behind him, eyes flickering back to him expectantly. He turns and groans. “I have to check that out. I’ll be right back!” he pledges, walking away to see a deadly amount of broken alcohol bottles on the floor, the stench of their contents burning his nose.

When he comes back, you’re gone.

The disappointment that blankets over his shoulders at the fact is just as surprising to him.

-

You’re in your bubble at the library, a little clueless to everything going on around you as you thumb the corner of a page, your pinky hovering below your book’s cover. You’re a few pages away from something exciting, teeth digging in with anticipation for it, when someone enters your field of vision, a large figure plopping down on a seat in front of you.

You spare them a glance and are surprised to find Bucky, sporting a large grin and his varsity jacket. You observe him suspiciously for a few moments, having never seen him even near the library, before returning your attention to what you’re reading.

“So, you’re actually here, huh?” he asks, and you shush him, shooting him a look to lower his voice. “Sorry.”

“Why are you here?” you question lowly instead, still not putting down your book.

“Anyone can come to the library.” Bucky points out, your name playfully scornful. You level a look at him.

“Yes. Why are you here? With me? You didn’t know my name until, like, two days ago.” You’re careful to keep your voice down.

“First of all,” Bucky starts, beginning to list off his fingers. “We met two weeks and three days ago.”

“Did we?” you drone, attempting to concentrate on the lines of your book once more.

“And, how do you know we don’t just have alternating study days?” Bucky points out.

“I am here every day,” you inform. “And if that were the case, why would you be here right now?” you rebut. “What would you be studying for? Coaching?”

“Maybe I wanted to switch things up,” Bucky defends. “And I’m not studying coaching. I’m studying biomedical engineering.”

You meet his eyes at the revelation, unable to keep the surprise off your face. You fold down the edge of the last page you read offhandedly and let your book flutter closed. “What? Quinn said you were in… sports.”

“Well,” Bucky sucks in a breath as if what he’s about to tell you is a revelation. “Soccer is a sport.”

“I know,” you affirm blandly. “But are you actually in biomedical?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “What, do you not believe me?” he asks, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you perpetuating harmful stereotypes.”

“I’m just surprised. You’ve never talked about it before.”

“We’ve talked four times,” Bucky points out. “Although I want it clear that I have tried to make it more.”

“Yeah, what’s that about, by the wayt?” you wonder, setting your elbows on the table and dropping your face into your hands, cocking your head at him. “From what I’ve seen, you have your fair pick of girls and guys.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

You laugh quietly. “Sure.”

“But I like you,” Bucky explains, shrugging. “You’re smart and pretty and you interest me.”

You scan his face, squinting. Astonishment tints your chuckle. “You are so much better at this than I thought you were.”

“Sorry?”

“At first, I was like ‘this guy? This is the Becky people won’t shut up about?’”

“Bucky,” he corrects swiftly.

“But I see it now. The charm. I’m not falling for it, but I see it.” You nod appreciatively and open your book once again to continue reading.

Bucky frowns in front of you, reaching over to insert an abrupt hand in between the pages. “What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you peel his fingers off the pages and meet his eyes, startled to see their intensity, crinkles at their edges, his lips pinched in a pout. You gasp. “Oh my god, you’re doing it now.”

“Sweetheart, it’s something that just happens naturally, I’m not doing anything.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, turning back to your book. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Go out with me, c’mon,” Bucky urges, smiling now. It’s stupidly sweet.

You click your tongue. “Dates are a waste of time.”

“I’ll make it worth it. Promise.”

“I don’t have time to go out with guys I’ve talked to four times,” you explain.

“Alright, so if I talk to you more, you’ll go out with me?”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t… I’m not liking where this is going.”

“I will talk to you every single day from now on,” Bucky vows.

“Oh, I was right,” you groan. “I just mean you don’t know me. My favorite color, my favorite book, my order at my favorite restaurant, things like that.”

“I will know all of that,” he pledges.

You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay, Borky.”

A cocky little smirk plays on his lips as he winks. “Bucky,” he says archly.

-

You learn his name. Completely. Totally. Unmistakably. 

It’s hard not to, not when he becomes a constant in your life and not with a name like that.

James Buchanan Barnes. It rolls off your tongue too nicely all of a sudden.

He talks to you every day. Just like he said he would, even if it’s a two-minute conversation over text where he makes sure you get home safe and asks about your day. It would be overwhelming if it didn’t make you smile so much.

He doesn’t get upset when you answer two hours later because you were distracted with work, asking you how Linda the librarian was and if she liked the cookie he got her three days ago.

You relay her enthusiastic message, deciding to brush over the wink and coy smile she sent you at his mention. Then maybe, because you’re finished with your work for the day, you shove aside your notebook and bite back a small smile when he tells you how pretty he thought you looked in the glimpses he had of you today.

Organizing your books into a neat little pile, you message him and Bruce that you’re heading home. And you intend to, you really do, but then Bucky insists you call him the next time so he can walk you home, and you’ve suddenly been sitting at your table, uselessly leaning against your things for ten minutes.

You shoot up when you realize, lightly bewildered with yourself, gathering everything into your arms as quickly as possible, and shoving your phone into your back pocket. You hope Bruce isn’t getting too worried as you push open the library doors, hurrying down the steps and onto the path you usually take. You’re alert as always, careful to listen past the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and watch for shadows that edge past yours, digging your keys out of your pocket to hold them in the spaces between your fingers.

It’s three minutes in when you begin to feel unsettled. Your phone has vibrated three times in your back pocket in the past two minutes, but the darker section of your path is coming up, and chills rush up your neck as you imagine what the distraction could cost.

A shadow follows nearby, inching closer and closer until your hands are shaking and you’re on the verge of running.

Fingers wrap around your arm and you shriek, books slipping from your arms when they wane. Stumbling back, you tug yourself away from the intrusion, breaths coming out in big, wet gasps when you turn. Bucky’s wide blue eyes meet your glossy ones, hands up in surrender when he catches the tremble of your bottom lip.

A tear streaks down your cheek in profusing relief that it’s only him, the anger indistinguishable beneath it as you stumble into Bucky on wobbly knees, his name braided in a whimper. His arms settle around you hesitantly, guiltily.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”

“I'm sorry,” he replies sincerely. “I didn’t think—”

“I'm just relieved it’s you,” you interrupt, fingers fisting his shirt. You’re far away, stuck in a memory very far away, and yet it feels enough like you’re standing in it. Your grip is a vice, forcing him closer still until the pads of your fingers can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. 

Bucky murmurs your name, a large palm stroking up and down your back in comfort. His voice is mournful. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You snap out of it at the nickname, pulling away from his embrace as if you’d awoken. He doesn’t startle, only stares at the furrow of your brow and the light that reflects off of your cheeks. Swallowing hard, you blink away the rest of your daze, eyes falling on your things scattered on the ground.

“My computer,” you remember, frantically dropping to your knees to search for it.

Bucky doesn’t pry, kneeling next to you to help pick up your books, taking the ones you’d stacked up sloppily into his arms. You carry your laptop with a careful grip, relatively unharmed.

“I should get going,” you tell him, motioning to take your things from him but he refuses, ushering you into his car.

It’s silent for a while after you halfheartedly agree, obviously still embarrassed. Bucky’s hesitant to probe, but the guilt at what he could’ve reminded you of gnaws at his gut.

You can feel his stare each time he glances at you curiously; cautiously, as if you’ll burst into tears spontaneously. 

“I was attacked once.” Your voice is quiet, soft for the obvious teeth the words pierce you with. “Walking home from the library,” you explain. “It’s why Bruce doesn’t like me walking home alone.”

“You… someone…” Bucky pinches his lips into a tense line, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Why?” It’s painfully incredulous.

You look down at your lap, the left edge of your lips pulling into your cheek. “I was alone. It was easy.” What’s left to say seems painful for you to push out. “He didn’t like me very much.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky offers after a tense second, unsure of what else to say and how angry he can be for you.

“For what? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” you retort, offering him a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“For scaring you,” Bucky insists sincerely. “For the fact that it happened in the first place.” You don’t respond, watching as trees and lights flash past the window.

“It really wasn’t as bad as you think. The label makes it seem worse,” you palliate. “He hit me once and pushed me against a wall. A bruise was the worst of it. Both physically and to my bank account.”

Bucky’s frown stays, quiet blanketing the both of you.

“So, why’d you come get me? How’d you know I was only on my way?” you chime suddenly.

“I wanted to check up on you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

You pause, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive pinch to your features. “So you drove to find me?”

“Technically, I just wanted to drop by your apartment to make sure you got home safe, but that sounds better, so let’s go with it.” Bucky shoots you a grin. An olive branch.

You accept it as you mimic the sweet curve of his lips. “Ah, yes, and that’s how Barnacle gets ‘em. Being charming and funny and sweet—”

He lets a light chuckle slip past his lips, sparing you a delicate glance. You’re already looking at him, softer in your gaze than he’s ever seen you.

He hums inquisitively. “You think I'm charming and funny and sweet?”

You laugh openly, shaking your head but not negating his words. You hug your laptop closer to your chest, constellations reflected in your shadowed eyes as you look through the window. “I think—” you inhale in relief. “We’re here.”

Bucky slows to a stop when he reaches your dorm, shutting off the car and stepping out as you pack up. You only notice his actions when your fingers slip past the handle once you move to open your own door, huffing air out of your nose when he smirks wantonly at you.

“Thank you,” you grunt, climbing out and clutching your things.

You walk ahead, listening to the door slam and the subsequent sound of shoes quick against the pavement until he walks steadily beside you. “So, you wanna do that again soon?”

You laugh, motioning to grab your keys. “Do what again?”

He steals the jingling set from your fingers, moving hurriedly to the door when you make a noise hald surprise half indignation. He jams a silver one in, cringing when it doesn’t fit. You glower as you reach him, eyeing his hands as they continue to shove the wrong key in the lock. “It's the bronze one—no, the other one. How do you not—”

The door swings open, a satisfied smile parting Bucky’s face.

“Thanks,” you sigh, taking back your keys as you step inside. He stands outside awkwardly, kicking a pebble around with his foot. You squint doubtfully at him after you’ve set your things down and he’s not following behind you like you thought he would be. “What’re you doing?”

“You have to invite me in,” he explains.

“What, like a vampire?”

He blinks. “Yeah, like a vampire.”

You grin toothily. “Vucky…” It drips in an exaggerated accent.

“It's cold out here,” he reminds.

“Maybe you should go home then,” you suggest.

His face drops for a second and you find yourself feeling a tug of something sickening at your stomach. Like a reflex, the offer leaves your throat before you can help it.

“Or. Come inside.” At his hesitant posture, you suck in a bubble of air. “Do you want to come in? You’re welcome to.” I want you to.

He stares at you long enough for you to squirm before a smile breaks through his face. “Really?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, flimsy regret already churning in your gut. “Yeah. Just come on in already. It’s cold outside, dummy.”

-

It’s startling the first time you miss Bucky's ever-constant presence.

You’d rather not admit it, but it’s hard not to—not when he finds you between classes to carry your books, teasing you about your lack of a backpack but always leaving you with only your laptop and a pen in hand. You can’t help the smiles when he “coincidentally” bumps into you at your favorite coffee shop enough times to have your order ready when you arrive on your tea day.

His goofy jokes while you study at the library get less annoying and, annoyingly, more endearing. You suddenly know a whole lot about biomedical engineering and Bucky. You know his sister’s favorite color and can spout stories about Steve before he grew five times his size like you were there yourself.

It's infuriating, you think, but you don’t mind as much when Bucky's making you laugh with lovely crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“I like the ocean,” you say sometime at the library, books spread on the table, ignored. He looks up from his notebook in surprise, putting down the pen you’d lent him two weeks ago. “It’s the reason why my favorite color is blue.”

His own blue glitters as he nods, listening. “‘Thought it was because of my eyes.”

You reward him a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I really wanted Atlantis to be real when I was little,” you tell him. “And mermaids. Even if they were the ugly ones that murder you,” You confess in a rare moment of transparency, meeting his eyes before you clear your throat, bringing your attention back to your laptop.

“I like space,” Bucky offers. “It's endless.”

You nod in acceptance, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of what you’ve given him.

“You collect those squished pennies, right?” Bucky asks. 

You’re startled that he remembers, and it takes a second for your brain to catch up. “Uh—yeah. Why?” 

Bucky turns to dig around in his bag, pulling out something small and bronze and shiny with a brilliant smile. ”I went to this little souvenir shop the other day and found one of those machines.” He extends it to you and flips it slowly between his index and middle. “It has a little fuzzy monster thing on it. I don’t get it, to be honest.”

It never crossed your mind that he would do that for you. A startling line of electricity runs up your arm when your fingers meet his, quick to take the penny from him. “Thank you,” you mutter, observing the coin in the light. The large eyes of the embossed little monster stare back at you. “This is really nice of you.”

“It’s not big deal,” Bucky shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Honey fills your throat. Gulping, you glance at the clock, nearly relieved to see it’s time for you to leave. “I gotta go,” you tell him, gathering your things. The smooth edges of the penny dig into your palm. He stands in tandem, rolling his shoulders.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” you begin.

“I want to. Besides, it would kind of feel weird not to after so long.”

You nod along. “Right.” 

He ducks his chin in affirmation, picking up his stuff too. Furtively, he lightens your own load.

You notice but know better than point it out and argue, remembering how you ended up bedrudgingly carrying only a pen last time.

“Does Sam still have your car?” you ask as you leave the library.

“Yup. One more week, he says.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Well, he’s been saying that for two, so…”

You laugh, staring up at a big tree vignetted orange.

Bucky nudges you lightly as you begin to drift away, preventing you from walking into the street. He guides you past a fissure in the sidewalk as you gasp at something in a boutique’s window. “There’s a sale at the bookstore!”

“Wanna go tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

You nod. “Can we?”

“Sure, we’ll just leave the library a little earlier,” Bucky suggests, balancing the books in his arms.

“Someone’s sure of themselves,” you tease. “You’re walking me home tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. I have been for months,” Bucky points out with a shrug.

Your jests die on your tongue as you realize he’s right, the discovery shocking when the memories of your solitary walks are further away than you had thought; suddenly, you remember that the dog you’d pointed out two weeks ago was more for his benefit than yours.

“Weeks,” you argue weakly, throat suddenly dry.

“Weeks could definitely be months,” Bucky reasons. 

You ignore him, stopping in your tracks. “Why?”

A frown tugs at his lips as he pauses as well. “Because weeks add up to months?”

“Why have you been walking me home every day for months?”

“‘Thought it was weeks?”

“Bucky,” you say, a little urgent.

He shrugs boyishly, near flippant but your things in his arms don’t let you believe that. “I don't want you to walk alone.” Then, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Shocked pupils dart around wildly and it’s difficult to swallow before you steady yourself, clearing your throat. Your features are pinched in a sort of raw determination—open, honest. “Thank you.”

He smiles and it’s soft as he shrugs lightly, nearly nonchalant.

Before you let yourself get too caught up in the curve of his lips and realize you’ve imitated it unconsciously, you look away, clearing your throat in relief when you spot your door.

“Right. Um, thanks again.” You take your things from him before he can think twice about it, speed walking to your door.

“Wait—” he stammers out, confused and too late when you give him a wave and a quick goodbye before slamming the door shut.

You swallow hard on the other side of the door, wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness. In the dreaded stillness, you can feel the heat that creeps up your neck and floods stickily into your face, the prickling static that needles into your palms. Shakily and illicitly, a hand drifts up to your chest, pressing to feel the thundering beating of your heart.

You curse to the silence, letting your eyes flutter shut in candied disappointment.

-

Bucky thinks you’re acting weird.

No—he’s sure you’re acting weird.

He knows you now, can recognize the sarcastic lines of your cheeks when you wrinkle your nose and poke fun at him. He’s memorized the genuine curve of your lips when he’s said something so cheesy it circles around to sweet. He knows you at your angry and at your happy, but he doesn’t know this.

You’re being nice to him. Sticky nice. Not you-nice.

He tries teasing first, poking a pencil into the flesh of your arm and asking if you’d fallen in love or something. You’d scoffed, blinked fast, and swatted him away. But you didn’t say no.

He’s aware he’s a fool to think so large of a lack of something, but he can’t pretend like it doesn’t inspire something in him, something like hope, like nectar, sticky in his throat.

He wonders if it clogs words up in yours—if it’s the reason you’re so quiet.

You stare through your computer, steam from your tea disappearing into the air as you blink. There’s a sweet indent in between your eyebrows, similar to the one you get when you study something you don’t completely understand, usually accompanied by the nail of your thumb between your teeth. But this one is lighter, more unintentional. You’re struggling with something but he can’t figure out what.

Your eyes flicker up to his, glinting in the light when you catch them on you.

“What?” you blurt. It’s louder than you intend, and you purse your lips in that embarrassed way that you do, shrinking down into your seat. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” he says honestly.

He waits for your usual flustered reaction and you give it to him, but it’s vignetted with something, different in the quick blinks of your eyes and the thumb you brush over your nose. 

“I'm hungry,” you complain, ignoring his compliment.

“I'll buy you something,” Bucky responds immediately, already pulling out his wallet.

“You don’t have to,” you remind. “I wasn’t asking, I was just—”

“I know, it’s fine,” Bucky insists.

“I can pay. It’s my food.”

“It’s just a meal.” He squints at you. “You never pass up a chance of food on me.” He presses the back of his palm against your forehead and leans in closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

You heat up beneath his touch, shaking him off with a scowl. “You make me sound awful. Fine. Buy me my food then.”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender, wallet between his index and middle finger rising with his shoulders. “I will.” He squeezes your shoulder before he walks away, dipping down to your ear to whisper, “And you’re not awful.”

You huff, pinching your lips together as you watch him get in line, nudging his fingers into his wallet to take out money.

Arbitrarily, you’re annoyed. Bucky Barnes is infuriating, with his long charcoal lashes and lilting chuckle and nonchalance in giving things you want without your asking.

Your laptop screen darkens with your lack of attention, and you’re left staring at yourself, scrutinizing the thin lines around your eyes as you squint. You’re being ridiculous; you can’t be angry over Bucky being a sweet guy.

“They musta’ known you were coming,” Bucky whistles, balancing a bowl and a small bag already darkened with grease spots in his arms. You take the bowl from him, warmth seeping into your fingertips.

You furrow your brows at him when you pop the lid off, barely realizing you’d never told him what to get. “You got me cavatappi pasta,” you realize. You look upset.

“Yeah?”

Distressed, you snatch the bag from him, shoving your fingers inside to pull out two large chocolate chip cookies. “And chocolate chip cookies.” Your voice rises and falls with a slightly unhinged twinge, features pulling as you examine what Bucky got for you. Your comfort food; the token you’d never explained to him.

“Yeah. It’s what you always get. And I know you always want two cookies but only get one because you’re afraid you won’t finish it, but we can split it or you can save it, or—what are you doing?”

You sweep everything into your arms, holding the food tightly behind your books.

“I have to go.”

“What? We just got here.”

“I have an appointment.”

“For what?”

“For—things—it’s—” you huff. “I have to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I have my car back, you know,” Bucky offers, already beginning to get up, but you shake your head, his actions hitting something in your chest.

“I'll be fine, thanks for the…” you exhale sharply. “I'll see you later.”

You run off, ignoring his confused call of your name as you slam the door behind you.

Hot soup dribbles down your fingers as you speed walk back home, but you barely notice, struggling to remember why you’d rejected him before.

“I hate him,” you mumble, fully dishonest as you struggle with your keys. “I hate him so much.”

“Hate who?” Bruce asks from the table, sparing you a glance from his computer. His eyebrows join as he takes you in, every panting and crazed inch of you, mouth parting and head tilting. “Uh.”

“Bucky,” you reply, setting the a la carte box down hastily. You drop the cookies next to it.

Bruce stares at you.

You make a big gesture with your hands toward it, pursing your lips. “He bought me that. Just—insisted. He's so—” you sigh frustratedly. “I didn't even—he bought me cookies.”

“Okay.” It's long and hesitant. “And that’s bad because…” he begins to shake his head. “You don’t like cookies?”

Your shoulders drop.

“You hate cookies and pasta. You think they’re awful,” Bruce tries.

“No! I love soup and cavatappi and—he’s ruining everything! He's such an idiot!” you rub your face, nuzzling your nose into the crevice between your joined hands.

Bruce examines you for another second before: “Oh.”

“What?” you snap, meeting amused brown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce muses, but his lips are set in a careful smile, amusement poorly hidden. “Just that you finally learned his name.”

His thoughts are pathetically obvious in his tone, lips in a thin line and eyes crinkled.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Bruce Banner—”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Do not think what you’re thinking,” you demand. “He’s a player and a distraction and—”

“Okay.” Bruce has never been one to argue, but his one word answer makes you more frustrated than anything else he could’ve said.

You puff and gather your food, striding to your room with a glare at your best friend. 

-

For the first time since you met Bucky, you follow through on an excuse to miss the game. It’s not a majorly important one—although Bucky pouts when you tell him either way, insisting that he needs you there for good luck—but you still feel a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach when the game begins and you’re too far away to cheer for him.

The edges of your lips are downturned, brows pinched as you stare at your phone before you realize what you’re doing and snap your attention away.

Scoffing, you shake away thoughts about soccer and the memory of Bucky's sweet blue eyes when he’d teased you, a strange tone of real sadness beneath his playful jests.

You pause, lifting your hands from your computer to eye the time once again. Furtively scanning the work you’re nearly done with, you allow yourself the distraction and grab your phone, fingers dancing in anticipation when your lock screen is littered with icons of messaging apps.

You click Bucky’s name first, smiling softly as you read a quickly typed summary of the game he probably sent after the first half was over. He sounds hopeful and excited, like he always does when he talks abouts soccer, but he signs off with a mispelled reminder that he misses you and a red heart. You check Wanda and Bruce's messages next, your face falling when you learn the second half hadn’t gone as well.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance at your work again and then at the clock, taking a quick breath before you force yourself to write a quick conclusion you promise yourself you’ll revise when you get home.

The game is over by the time you arrive, easily finding a parking spot in the midst of everyone’s departure. You hear disappointed grumbling as you make your way inside the stadium and cringe, striding toward the locker room.

Your name in Bruce’s voice makes you pause, turning to meet his pulled, bushy eyebrows and pinched lips. “What’re you doing here?”

“I finished early,” you explain. “And you said the game wasn’t going great so I thought I'd come and make sure the team’s okay.”

Bruce's features morph into something like realization and then into his poor poker face, lips pursed so tightly they’re edged white. “Right. The team.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, since it’s the whole team, I should let you know most of them are in the locker room moping, but Bucky wanted to leave early.” Bruce looks pointedly to the right.

“What? Why?”

Bruce shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe he said something about seeing you, but since you’re here for the team—”

“Shut up, Bruce.” You squint meanly at him, making him swallow a laugh as you spin around and continue on your path. 

You bump into Bucky when you turn a corner, familiar hands coming to rest on your arms distractedly before his eyes brighten in recognition. He says your name in surprise, shaking you gently as if to check that you’re real. His hair is damp from the quick shower he’d just taken, dark spots from water droplets around the collar of his gray shirt. He smells like soap and Bucky and it makes you a little dizzy.

“Hey, I heard about the game,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh. I was just coming to see you. I told you that you were our lucky charm.” Bucky laughs but it’s not completely honest, his disappointment about the loss shining through.

You frown, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you shove your hands into your coat pockets, pulling out a crinkled baggie in each one. “I brought you something.”

Bucky steps back, eyebrows furrowed as he notices what you’re holding. “Are those orange slices?”

Nervous now, you let your arms drop. “Yeah. I, uh—figured they’d maybe give you a boost and—” You cut yourself off, laughing awkwardly. “It was dumb.”

“My mom used to bring me orange slices after soccer practice,” Bucky mumbles.

You perk up. “Yeah. You told me about that and I thought maybe you’d like them.” The end of your sentence lilts like a question, answered by the quick movements of Bucky's fingers when he takes a baggie from you and pulls it open, taking a slice out to grin happily at it.

He dips his fingers in again and hands another to you, bumping his own small slice against yours. “Cheers.”

As soon as he bites into it, the juice from the fruit runs down his fingers, eyelids falling closed in a delighted hum. You barely realize the sap has streaked sticky orange down your arm, too.

He breathes out your name as he opens his eyes, a dazzling blue in the fluorescent lights of the locker room hall. “I forgot how…” He shakes his head, drifting off, and takes the other bag from you, pulling you to him. He sighs big and warm, rumbling through his chest.

You rub your nose against his sweatshirt, breathing in deeply. There's the fresh scent of citrus and then the lavender body wash you’d bought for him faint beneath his own distinct smell. He thanks you blithely, a lot lighter.

You shrug it off and force yourself to pull away, shivering at the loss even if you initiated it. “Do you want to get something to eat and watch that new episode of The Great British Bake-Off we missed last week?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, hand drifting down to pull yours along. His skin is sticky and sweet against yours, orange juice smearing on your palm, but you can’t find it in you to care.

-

You feel sick when you step outside; a sticky, prickly rush that coats your throat in sap. It’s cold enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, dark enough for the stars to drown in ink. Any appetite you had disappears, replaced with something clammier and painful, a twisting anxiety as a result of a bad day and a completely avoidable situation.

The bags with your food bump warmly against your knee, plastic handles pulling against the skin of your wrist. If you stay as you are, there will be indents of them once you finally put the bag down. 

Something like dumb, chest-puffed stubbornness tugs incessantly at you when you contemplate calling Bruce to come pick you up, a biting voice snapping pathetic for even thinking about it convincing you to shut the door behind you, locking away the choice of warmth and safety and shame.

It’s very silent when you begin to walk, the crinkling of your bag loud and in tandem with your steps. You let it slide down and hook on your fingers, carefully aware of shadows that might peek out behind yours and off-space footsteps.

Lonely fingers curl in on themselves, missing the comforting frigidity of the keys you’d forgotten at home. Your dying phone vibrates in the tight grip of your hand, spurring your steps faster. A dark lump appears on your shadow’s shoulder, and you freeze, spinning around violently to face the street, empty behind you.

You turn back around hesitantly, breath trembling. You could’ve sworn you felt someone else behind you.

Eyes rounded and wet, you begin to walk again, feeling an uncomfortable heat in the space where your ribs meet. Your required cognizance turns frantic, making your fingers shake and oxygen difficult to get into your lungs. There’s an echo to your footsteps. When you blink, there’s the ghost of an unforgiving hand on the back of your neck, the sharp slam of your jaw against brick. You gasp when you open your eyes again, a hand flying to the aching skin of your neck as you spin.

Your eyes promise that there’s no threat lurking behind darkness, but your mind blares with an assurance that there is. Ducking behind a wall, you scramble for your phone, cheeks cold with air-slapped tears as you press the call button for the first contact your fingers find.

Bucky’s voice is confused and comforting when he answers.

“I think—I think someone is following me,” you whimper, pulling your legs to your chest. Your food warms the side of your thigh. 

“What? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I should, it’s just—I was walking home from the restaurant and I heard something and I can’t concentrate, I can’t breathe—”

“Okay, it’s okay. Try to breathe, okay? Can you tell me what restaurant it was?”

You can picture the glowing sign, the faded wallpaper, the flowered curtains, but you can’t think, barrelling you deeper into panic. “I can’t remember—I—”

You can hear Bucky open his door. “Hey, it’s okay. Were you eating there or picking up to go?”

“To-go,” you answer tearfully, concentrating on the box pressing into your flesh.

“Okay. For you and Bruce or just you?”

“B-both of us.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Try to take deep breaths, I think I—”

There’s a hollow click before it’s silent, the calm you’d been grasping at completely gone. “Bucky?” you plead. “Bucky?”

You pull your phone away from your ear, vision going blurry when you tap desperately at the screen and it doesn’t respond. Dead.

There’s a tremendous weight on your chest, your elbow knocking against the wall behind you with your attempts to draw in a breath. You shove your head in between your knees and try to remember Bucky’s voice, forget the cold fear that another clammy hand will reach for your hair and tug you up.

You need to get home. You can’t move.

You stifle your sobs with your leg, clawing at your shins and trying to think of anything else. You shove your hand in between your stomach and your legs, letting your phone fall to your thighs as the tips of your fingers reach the round hills of your collarbone. Your palm digs into your flesh until the beating of your heart pulses against your thumb, aching when you force it to stay put.

Thump, thump. “O-one,” you force, restraining your fingers from curling. Thump, thump. “Two.” A deep, shuddering breath that makes your mouth snap closed and your eyes flutter into darkness. Thump, thump. “Three…”

It’s how Bucky finds you, your nose deep between your knees, counting watery and muffled. He’s frantic when he sees you, panic like needles against his chest prickling to a pounding ache. He should be more cautious, stand still a few feet away for a few seconds, step slowly. If he were a little less in love, maybe he would; but he’s not, and the relief that you’re solid and no longer a tenuous voice on his phone is too much a relief.

He calls out your name and rushes forward, lowering himself down to his knees before he touches your arm. You flinch, shoving a strong hand against him, a horrible mix of anger and fear contorting your voice.

“It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You still push yourself back against the wall, but your eyes finally meet his. “Bucky,” you test. “Bucky.”

It’s a silent, cold beat before you blink clearly, irises looking back a little less hazy. You murmur his name once more and promptly burst into tears, launching yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you in tandem, pleasing the closeness your fisted fingers crave. He takes in your tears, steadily smoothing a hand over your back, desperation in the way he hooks his chin over the crown of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks too soon.

You make a noise of which answer he can’t be sure of, so he gathers you up in his arms to push you away, only a little, only for a second to stare at you.

You grip at his shirt, cheeks shiny. And then, “I thought I was really gonna die this time.” Hearing your admittance causes a shift on your face, still crumpled and unready to deal with this. “Just for a second and—” Your lips twist to keep words back. 

Bucky pulls you back in.

“Will you take me home?”

His compliance is wordless and patient, hooking a finger through your takeout and grasping your hand with his free one, guiding you to his car. He helps you inside, setting the bag at your feet before he buckles your seatbelt and pushes strands of hair away from your sticky face.

Your breathing steadies while he drives, concentrating on the cool puffs of air hitting your collarbone, the lingering warmth from the food you’re suddenly starving for. But the wash of panic has left a shameful residue and a subsequent otiose apology on your tongue, making the once comforting silence expectant.

Your chest weighs when you finally spot your door, fighting to pull words from your mouth at the dimmed lights, but Bucky beats you to it, clearing his throat without unlocking the door. His left hand lays clothed on his lap, face stormed with uncertainty, but there’s a resolute edge that makes him look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you start, misunderstanding.

“Why?”

You aren’t sure, only certain of how guilty you feel. “For… bothering you. For making you comfort me. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that."

“Don’t apologize.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want you to…”

He shoves his sleeve up, taking a deep breath as he pinches the fingertips of the glove. “I know that wasn’t something you were ready to share with me. I understand, I…”

His gaze is heavy, flickering between your face and the fingers peeling away his glove. He swallows hard when it’s pulled off completely, looking away from the sight of his skin.

You can’t help the way your eyes track down his arm. It’s scarred with angry raised lines, ending at his fingertips and disappearing into his shirt sleeve. 

“I was in a fire once,” he says. “‘Got some scars too.”

“Is that why you wear—” You trail off at his nod. “Why are you… why are you telling me?” you ask, wincing at how the question sounds, but Bucky seems to understand what you mean.

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies.

You blink at him, slipping a sure hand into his and squeezing. “Thank you.”

His eyes stay startled on your interlocked fingers, stubborn even beneath his gaze. He laughs hollowly then, squeezing back before he finally meets your eyes. “You, too.”

-

Your fingers are wound tightly around Wanda’s arm, the nails digging into her sweater giving away what your face is trying to hide. You’re zeroed in on Bucky's figure as he runs across green after blurry white.

The energy from the others who cheer in the stands makes you buzz, a rush of confidence urging you to jump to your feet when Bucky passes the ball to Pietro and then has it once again, close enough to the other team’s goal to make you clench a hand in anticipation.

With the flesh of your thumb between your teeth, you can’t help but lose your breath when it looks like Bucky's going to try to make it, only for it to be knocked out from your lungs when he crashes to the ground from the impact of another player.

Your mouth parts in a surprised o, tongue playing his name before you can stop it.

It's eerily silent in the stadium for a second as Bucky lies on the field, before it disappears into a fold of angry screams.

You’re not worried.

Bucky has never gotten hurt on the field before—”I’m too good,” he had promised you with an uneven grin, annoying in the way that he’s right—and the only times it’s seemed otherwise have been lies, a mere play he put on for the free kick. He had shaken his head disappointedly at you when you’d gotten worried, condemning you for not trusting him. He’s playful when he’s flustered.

So you’re not worried, because you know Bucky is fine.

Except he hasn’t moved in a little while too long and you don’t think it’s ever taken him this long to fake it. Although, maybe it feels longer because you can’t take your eyes off his figure.

You’re not worried.

Your fingers say otherwise, thumb tapping against your alternating fingers so frantically they get jumbled together, clumsily bumping into the crevices between them.

“Is he hurt?” Wanda asks.

“No,” you say automatically, stretching your fingers out like a starfish as if to rid evidence of your anxiety. “No, he’s fine.”

It's another moment that seems too long and the lines of Wanda’s worried face deepen, breaths a little faster. “He's not… he’s not getting up.”

“He’s fine,” you insist. “He has to milk it.” Glancing up at the timer, you nod definitively. “Yes, he has to milk it to get the penalty kick.”

“What?” Wanda asks, meeting your eyes in confusion.

“The hit didn’t seem that bad,” you lie unsteadily. “He has to milk it. He’s fine.”

Your panic escapes in the highs of your voice, something translucent hiding it when you clear your throat. He's still not getting up and it makes your breath comes out quickly. “He has to be,” you admit.

Wanda’s brows furrow, eyes searching your face once Bucky finally limps weakly to his feet, giving the ref a short nod. A sigh large enough to make you bend slips past your lips, caught in a relieved laugh as you gesture to him.

“I told you,” you tell her.

“He’s limping,” she points out.

“It’s fake,” you assure, fingers digging round shadows into your temples. “He’s doing his hero face, he’s completely fine.” It comes out more relieved than you thought it would.

He gets his penalty kick, makes it, of course, and it’s another few, a lot slower minutes before the game is over, but you’re making your way down thirty seconds before, too much attention on the game rather than your footing on the stairs.

You stumble over your feet, barely caring when the whistle blows to indicate the game is over, and turn in the direction of the hall to the locker room. Your anxiety nearly seems silly now, not as oppressive now that the soaked towel you’d been waterboarded with was dry. Yet, it still prickles at your fingertips, faint but enough to ache.

It's only a couple minutes before you can hear the pattering of feet, the stress that the outliers are Bucky, limping like he did on that field, nudging at your mind. The players wave at you, surprised, and your heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing team shirt that does not have “BARNES” on the back.

Then he’s there, completely fine and near the end of the line. He's grinning at the apparent win, letting Steve shove him proudly. His eyes widen in surprise when they catch sight of your own, saying something to his teammates without looking at them as he steps toward you.

“Hey, what’re you—”

Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck, the prickling disappearing the moment you touch him. He is hot and solid in your arms, but most importantly completely fine.

“Hey,” he coos, hugging you back.

You allow him a moment before you pull back abruptly and smack his arm.

“Ow!” he complains, grabbing your hand.

“You asshole! What’s up with the drama?”

“What, did I scare you?” Bucky teases, smirk dropping when your deadpan doesn’t glitter with playfulness. “Doll?”

“You took your sweet time getting back up,” you continue, ignoring his words. “You’ve never taken that long.” You’re alone in the hall now, eyes frenetic over his figure.

He softens then, chin pulling closer to his neck so his eyes can give you a reassuring smile. “Hey,” he says softly, tapping your wrist with his index, “‘m fine.”

“I know,” you contend, but it comes out a little relieved at hearing it in his voice. “I told Wanda that.”

His cheeks apple at your statement, amusement twinkling back in his eyes. “Of course. My girl knows I can't get hurt.”

You scoff at the term of endearment, nervous energy dissolving. “I'm not your girl.”

“Not yet!” he proclaims.

You wrinkle your nose, stepping away from him. “You stink. Go shower.” You pat his shoulder as a goodbye, beginning to head back out.

“Sure know how to charm a guy,” he mumbles, watching you walk away with a dopey smile.

-

You’re in your room, laying on your stomach with your computer in front of you and a drink Bucky had bought for you sitting on your bedside table.

He's sitting against your bed, scanning over a document. You should be doing something like it, but you can’t help but be distracted. He's quiet for once, features set in something not playful and not serious, a small knot between his brows indicating his concentration.

He looks pretty. You can’t be blamed.

If he notices your gaze, he’s kind enough to not point it out, although it’s unlikely. It’s undoubtedly heavy.

He’s staring down at his hand when he speaks up for what seems like the first time since hes arrived. His fingers dance nervously before he shoves them away from his view, edges of thick tissue peeking out as a bracelet on his wrist. “Do I make you uncomfortable when I flirt?”

You blink owlishly at him, unsure how to answer. He sounds so serious, guilty. “No.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop.”

“I know you would. But it doesn’t. Is something wrong?”

Bucky cringes. “You don’t really flirt back. I just want to make sure it’s not because I make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t! I just… don’t really flirt. I don’t really think there’s a point if I’m not dating.”

“You don’t date?” He’s known this. To a point, which he thinks is not completely accurate now that he hears the way you say it.

“No.”

“Not even guys you like?”

“Especially guys I like, ” you clarify, cringing with the difficulty of putting so many feelings into so insignificant words. “Things get messy. It’s just… distractions and it’s never worth it.”

“You think love isn’t worth it? That it’s a distraction?”

You shoot him a look, huffing a little disappointedly, as if you’d expected him to understand something and he didn’t. “Why do people always twist my words into something so cynical?

I didn’t say that. Not love. I never said love, I just—it never ends well. It’s always something you pour so much into and get so little back.”

Bukcy shifts. “That’s not true. A relationship is fair, or at least, it’s supposed to be.”

“Ah, but see, ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things. I’d rather just skip the entire thing.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t think you should.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“I don’t… I’m not telling you what to do, but I really think you should try. Love can be really great. And you deserve that.”

Your nails pinch at your fingers. “But what if it isn’t?”

“Then it isn’t.” You move to rebut, but Bucky continues. “But what if it is?”

You refuse to answer, chewing on your bottom lip.

Bucky gazes at you, waiting for a response before he realizes he won’t get one. He doesn’t push, turning back to his work.

“Why do you care so much?” you ask.

He sucks in a breath before admitting, “Mainly because I think you would really enjoy being loved. And very partially because I’m selfish.”

You hum. “You’re a really good guy, Bucky.”

“I try.”

You scowl lightly. “Incorrigible. Annoying. But really good.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t forget—what was it you said about me? Charming? Sweet? Hand-to-heart hilarious?”

You launch a pillow at his head. “Nuisance is what I should’ve said.”

“Mm, a little contradictory but what’s life without some juxtaposition? Maybe I’m a man of many talents.”

The tip of your index finger shoves into his arm.

You fall into a peaceful silence once again when the laughter dissolves, your fingers busy away at your keyboard. There's a moment where you’re thinking, staring intently just past your computer and Bucky is staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, stony and all.

“Will you?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. “Will I what?”

“Give it a chance.”

You want a moment to ponder it, because you know the right answer but you aren’t sure if you want to pick it. “Give what a chance?” you play dumb, but he doesn’t buy it.

You look to your side, unfocused eyes lazy on an ugly painting.

“Yeah, maybe.” You want to tell him it depends who it is, that you have very strict rules mentioning annoying brunets with blue eyes who walk you home from the library and never shut up, but you don’t, eyes travelling back to him slowly. His silence when they finally meet his own tell you he knows anyway.

Quickly looking back down, you avoid his gaze and continue to work.

-

You melt into his side, delightfully prickling when you lean in a little closer to take a sip of your drink. Eyes shimmering in the lame lights of the bar, you’ve never looked so openly bright, hardly containing your delight and everything you can spilling past anyway.

There are enough people in the place for it to feel rightfully uncomfortable, sweat-sticky skin bumping into the arm he has around your chair and making the heat rise, but Bucky can’t seem to notice.

It would feel plain ignorant to do so—to not focus completely on the stitched pride in the dips of your smile or the warmth of your palms as they splay flat on his arm.

It’s not enough to just have your fingers tug at him during conversations with strangers, he feels he should imprint the feeling of your touch like a branding.

You say his name in conversation, cruelly dragging your hand down to bracelet around his wrist and squeezing. You make a little shimmy with your shoulders that can’t help but make him laugh. He zeroes in on your lips, trying to make sense of what you’re saying.

You’re cute. You’re too sweet to be in this stuffy bar with him.

You turn to him brightly in the midst of another exclamation and he feels himself transported.

He can feel the end buzzer vibrating up to his fingertips, the breeze on the heat of his skin when he’d looked up, eyes searching for you like a habit. 

Your features are shrunken into the memory, suddenly far away but still pulled into the biggest beam you could muster, hands clapping ecstatically.

“Bucky,” memory-you says liltingly, too clearly.

When he blinks, he’s back in the present, the tip of your index dimpling his bicep, your face close enough for him to count each individual eyelash. He grins without really thinking about it. “Bucky,” you repeat, a little harsher but still teasing.

“Yeah?” he responds finally.

“We’re complimenting you and you aren’t paying attention? Are you feeling okay?” you frown, lips downturned but the edges of your eyes still crinkled with happy lines. The back of your hand meets his forehead.

“Fantastic,” he says, his left hand vining up to hook around your fingers and lay them on his lap. “Just won a game, didn’t you hear? All by myself, too.”

You shake your head at him, turning back to who Bucky realizes is one of your friends. Carol, you’d said.

“See?” You say accusatorily. 

Carol grins. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to when you describe it so thoroughly.”

That catches Bucky’s fluttering attention, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly in your direction. Your lips part in betrayal at Carol, and you begin to take your hand back from Bucky, but he hooks your wrist before you can. 

“I think Maria is calling you,” you tell her. “You should go see what that’s about.”

“Now, now,” Bucky starts. “Actually, I think I want to know how thoroughly you talk about me, sweeheart.”

“That's my cue,” Carol laughs, dipping a beer at you both. “I'll see you guys later. Congrats on the game.”

She bounces to her feet and takes off, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky nudges a finger in between your ribs, making you jump and swat at him. “Hey!”

“You talk about me to your friends?”

You stare at him, bottom lip pushing out defensively in your tipsiness. “Well, the star football player is one of my best friends, shouldn’t I be allowed to brag?”

“Best friend, huh? Bruce gonna be jealous?”

You wave him off, making a small, stubborn sound. “He ought to get over it with how much he ditches me.”

“See, I would never.” Bucky presses his free hand to his heart in oath. “Star football players are very reliable. Scoring goals, keeping plans, etcetera.”

You grin at the reminder, something sparkling beneath your skin like static, jolting your fingers when it begins to brim. You splay an excited palm on his shoulder out of pure excitement, seeming to relive the night.

“I am so proud of you,” you say. Saccharine, words stout with a smile and pride. “You did so well today.”

You’re startlingly genuine, entirely proud. Bucky can’t bring himself to tease or flirt.

“Thank you.”

You smile prettily, the light in your irises shifting at his authenticity. “I am,” you insist.

You just want to tell him, for him to hear you and understand how much you mean it. Your pupils flicker to a spot above his shoulder, distant for a second as your face brightens more. You laugh disbelievingly.

“I don't know all that much about football but from what I do, you’re certifiably extraordinary.” You sound out the word, unwilling to mess it up when you mean it so much. You try again. “You made a really great play.”

“Impossible,” Bucky corrects completely unsubtly, but it’s soft, blurred by yellow light from above and buzz from you.

You observe him for a second. “I think you’re amazing,” you say thoughtfully, not in an effort to compliment but in a sort of realization. “What… type of person…” you start but don’t continue, tongue unable to keep up with everything running through your mind. The walks home, the paid lunches, the attention, the ability. 

You inhale sharply, as if realizing you’re drifting off and trying to pull yourself back in.

Bucky knows what you expect—what he expects of himself—but he can’t bring himself to tease you, reiterate your words with an artful curve of his lips. He can’t concentrate enough to ignore the prickly warmth at the bottom of his stomach. He glances down at his watch.

“Should we go?” he says instead, casual but urgent. “It's late.”

He stands before you can process his offer, still a little drunk from stolen sips but only enough to make contrasts lighter. You blink up at him from your seat for a second before nodding, two short, stressed lines between your brows. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt.

Kinder, he helps you from your seat and guides you toward the door, keeping you away from stray elbows with benevolent redirection.

Your breath curls visibly in the air when you step outside, white and dissolving until it is replaced by another, longer exhale. You wrap your arms around your torso.

“C'mon,” he urges, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”

“Should you be driving?” you ask as he searches his pockets for the keys, standing at the car door, watching him. “And what about the others?”

“Didn’t drink,” he answers, patting his coat pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

You frown, slowly running through the night and realizing he’s right, recalling the sparkling water dripping moisture next to his jacket sleeve. The cold and the ennui knock a lot into focus.

He clicks open the car. “And this’ll force ‘em to call an uber. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drop by later to force them home. I just want to get you home first. No drunk footballers to puke on your feet.”

He rounds around to meet you, opening the door, and waiting patiently.

“Why didn’t you drink?” you ask. You’ve seen him drink before, tipsy in that breezy way where he’s a little flirtier with a little less filter. “You won a game. If you ever deserved it, it’s now.”

“I had to be able to drive you back.” He shrugs, cocking his head in the direction of the open car door. “Speak of the devil,” he starts pointedly, reminding you of your frigidity.

Still contemplating, you climb inside with furrowed brows, following Bucky's figure as he shuts your door, jogs back to his side, and settles into the driver’s seat. Rubbing his hands together, he turns to look at you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Look at that. I think you’re a little drunker than I thought.”

“I am not,” you argue, looking down at yourself and seeing nothing wrong until Bucky reaches over to pull your seatbelt over you. “Oh.”

Bucky breathes out a little laugh, amused.

“I'm just…” You contemplate for a second, sinking into the rumbling of the engine when Bucky turns the car on. Immediately, heat slaps your nose. The glass meets your temple bitingly, jolting your sentence back on track. You turn to see Bucky's attention already on you. “Happy.”

“You’re happy?” Bucky repeats pleasantly, shifting the gear into drive.

“Yes. It was a good day today.” 

You feel clearer now, the edges of reality crisper as you look out the window. “I know I already said it, but I'm really proud, Bucky. You win games and ace tests and don’t celebrate with a drink to drive me home. You’re kind of great.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing at you.

You hum an affirmation, inhaling deeply. At some point, Your few-sip buzz dissipated into something different.

Sober, but influenced on the darkness of the sky and the roundness of the moon. It feels safe suddenly, a rush of energy jolting you straight. You stare at Bucky's profile. “Yeah,” you confirm clearly. “It's kind of disappointing, you know.”

Bucky is caught off guard, sparing you a look when he stops at a stoplight. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be different.”

“How?” His brows are furrowed.

You take a moment to ponder. “Not so… you. More of the unforgivably arrogant and ignorant jock variety.”

“So you were expecting me to be one of those cartoon stereotypes?” he teases, looking back at the road with an easier smile.

“Kind of,” you laugh. “But you’re not and that’s really great.”

The red light from outside drapes over his features, pulled as he searches the crevices of your face. In response, it slackens slowly, from thoughtful to a little dazed as you stare back. Without meaning to, you’re leaning in at the same time he is.

His skin flips green.

You fall away from him with a surprised exhale, blinking in confusion.

It takes a second for Bucky to look away after you have, and you consider yourself lucky there’s no one else on the road during the long moment it takes for his attention to switch back to driving.

He doesn’t want to just forget what happened. He doesn’t want to move on from this yet. “What does that mean?” he asks, your compliment playing on repeat in his mind.

You stay silent, trying to figure it out yourself. “I don't… I don’t know.”

He tries to remain unbothered, glancing at you once more to catch your focus unmovingly on him. He pulls into your driveway and turns off the car.

“What about going on a date with me?” he requests, a little more serious that usual but glazed in his usual tone. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he continues.  “I'll dress up in that shade of blue you think I look so good in and we’ll go out to eat at that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I'm still impressed you found. You’ll order that same thing you always do, and we can talk about that novel you’re reading—”

He doesn’t wait for the answer you’ve given before, stepping out of the car and striding over to your side.

You gaze up at him when he opens your door, your buckle unclasped in your hand. He's kind as he always is as he helps you out, hands settling on your shoulders to steady you when you nearly trip over a ridge in the sidewalk.

“Or… or we could go take a walk around the park. Or go to the movies, or the amusement park, or do laundry or taxes or—anything as long as it’s with you.”

And maybe it’s the easy smile, with the glitter of gold pride still sewn into his lips, or the genuine kindness he’s never failed to show you under the mask of the moon. Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe you just can’t help yourself anymore. You kiss him.

He’s frozen for a solid moment, thick enough for you to start doubting yourself, beginning to pull away when he finally reacts, practically melting into you as his hands frantically pull you closer.

He pulls away hesitantly, torturously, a second later, eyes scrutinizing. “Wait, wait, wait, are you drunk?”

You shake your head, laughing gently at the thumb that pulls gently at the skin beneath your eye to make sure, urgently tugging you back into the kiss when he’s satisfied.

“‘Had to make sure,” he mumbles against your lips. “This can’t happen when you aren’t you.”

“It’s me,” you promise, pulling back. Before you can delve into your mind too deeply, you nod suddenly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay what?” he repeats, chasing after you to kiss you a few more times.

“I'll go out with you.”

His smile drops, fingers tightening around your hips. “Wait, really?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You grasp his arms tightly. “I should at least try, right?”ey

[navybrat817]

A little steam to power you through your Monday?

I barely made it, but I will take him. And a little something because I appreciate you.

Strike a Pose

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You get a front row seat to your roommate's latest photoshoot, which happens to feature your boyfriend.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: K-I-S-S-I-N-G, college AU, nicknames, Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning)

A/N: A little more Titan and Starshine that no one asked for!❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You were a bit surprised when your roommate, Roxy, messaged you to come to her recent photoshoot. A photography major who captured exquisite images, she was hardly ever without her camera. But she typically didn't ask you to show up for a session unless she specifically told you she planned to take photos of you. She hadn't in this case. She also ambushed you at the door of the studio and you wondered what was going on.

"Is everything okay?" you asked as she ushered you inside. 

"Just fine, but wait. Before you go any further," she replied, stopping you before you could take another step. "Did you talk to Bucky this afternoon?"

You raised an eyebrow and tried to get a read on why she was asking. You didn't go a day without talking to him and it still made you giddy that he usually reached out first. "Yeah, we're supposed to meet up in an hour. Why?"

"You know how I'm doing an athletic spread for my next project?" she asked before you nodded. "Well, one of my 'models' got sick today and I bumped into Steve and I asked if he wouldn't mind me taking some photos of him and he also suggested Bucky and-"

"They both agreed?" you guessed. It made sense that she asked. Steve and Bucky, especially with his boxing background, were both in amazing shape and certainly had the looks of models.

"They did. Steve should be here in a bit, so it's just Bucky and I for now."

You didn't feel a surge of jealousy or nervousness. There was no reason for it. "Unless you're hitting on Bucky, I don't see what the problem is," you teased. You trusted them and hoped you hadn't given either of them a reason to think you didn't.

"Hey! I take offense to that. I know he is your man and we both want you here," she huffed, making your heart flutter. Bucky Barnes was your guy. "He keeps looking at the door to make sure you're coming. He's down so bad for you."

That made your heart beat faster. He was waiting for you? "I was kidding about you hitting on him. I know you wouldn't do that," you assured her. You didn't want to hurt her feelings with a bad joke.

She flashed you a huge grin after a moment. "I know you were kidding. I was just giving you shit," she teased. Of course she was. "But speaking of your man, it is my duty as your roommate and friend to prepare you as much as I can: He's going to ruin your panties. I'm not kidding. Soaked. And it's only fair that as his girlfriend you should witness him in his glory before the film develops."

You almost sputtered as she practically dragged you further into the studio. "You act like I haven't seen Bucky... Fuck. Me."

"Right here, Starshine? I'm game if you are," Bucky winked.

Your boyfriend sat in the middle of the room surrounded by steam, looking the part of a young, modern king. It was unbelievable how he looked so commanding and he wasn't standing. Was it the sleeveless shirt that accentuated his muscular arms or the way.the light made his brown hair shine? Or was it confidence in his blue eyes as he unashamedly looked you up and down?

The whole package.

"Told you. Soaked panties," your roommate said as she checked her camera. "And for the record, I haven't seen Bucky fuck you, but if he keeps eye-fucking you like that, I just might."

"I can't help myself," Bucky said, licking his lips as he beckoned you closer with his finger. Your feet moved forward on their own accord. "She should be the one being photographed."

Your stomach did a funny flip. While you wouldn't say you lacked confidence, you wouldn't call yourself glamorous either. "I'm no model," you protested. 

"You could be," he said, taking your hand the second you were close enough. "You're so beautiful and I don't have enough pictures of you. It isn't fair. You're depriving me."

"You're ridiculous," you giggled before he pulled you into his lap. "This is an athletic photoshoot."

"Should we show her how you can put your legs behind your-"

"No!" you giggled more. 

"Okay," he chuckled, bumping his nose against yours. "But you really could be a model if you wanted to. Or maybe a ring girl."

"You'd let me walk around the ring in a bathing suit with no objection?" you asked, knowing Bucky would support you if you really wanted to. Lucky for you, he was the right kind of possessive boyfriend. He treated you with respect instead of like an object. 

"I would because I know you're leaving with me at the end of the night, Starshine," he said.

"Whatever you say, Titan."

You inhaled when he gripped your chin and forced you to meet his gaze. Your cheeks were so hot you were shocked you didn't burst into flames. You could try and blame it on the steam, but it was all him. 

Your Titan.

"Wait! Hold that pose!" Roxy ordered. "Ahh! This might be my best shoot yet!"

With Bucky as her model, you knew it would be. 

You paid no attention to the camera going off as you continued to gaze at Bucky. Beneath the flirty surface was tenderness in his eyes, a private moment amongst the flashing lights. Maybe you could get Roxy to make a couple of copies of the photos. One set for you and one set for him. 

"Now KISS!"  

And there was no hesitation when Bucky surged forward, capturing your lips in a devouring kiss. You moaned softly as he moved his tongue with yours in a heated dance, having to remind yourself that the two of you weren't alone. There was no way for you not to crave him though. 

Isn't that part of what young love is all about?

Except you hadn't said that word yet. 

Soon.

Oh, these two. More of them here. 💙 Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[delusionalwriterr]

See Her Smile

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: With Bucky being new to relationships, he’s still trying to learn how to handle things. But how does he handle things when you’re going through something you don’t even know how to handle yourself? 

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: signs of depression, angst, fluff

A/N: GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM THE DEAD Y’ALL. i missed writing so much, but life keeps giving me reasons not to T_T this fic is based off of See Her Smile from Tick, Tick... Boom! it's been stuck in my head all week, and i couldn't help but write something about it.

Masterlist | Prompt List

–––––

You hear Nat cheer beside you as you watch Steve catch the ball that was thrown to him. “That’s my man!” she exclaims as you take a swig of water, watching the football team as they prepare for an upcoming game. 

This wasn’t your normal scene. If you’d ask your freshman self if she’d be willing to sit in the sweltering heat to watch sweaty men push each other around, she would laugh it off and turn back to binge watching her favorite show on Netflix. It wasn’t until you started dating one of the university’s linebackers, Bucky Barnes, did you even begin to consider watching football matches and turning up to their practices all together. 

“Come on, lighten up! Your man’s over there too,” Nat pipes up, briefly looking over at you before turning back to watch the team. You chuckle as your eyes land on his figure. You couldn’t exactly see his face, but you were able to spot him in the field considering you’ve been dating for about 4 months now. You let out a cheer as you watch him tackle another player to the ground. His head snaps towards the direction of your voice as he stands up.  You can’t see it, but you knew he was smiling. He puts his hand on his chest before pointing at you, his way of saying, “That one’s for you!”

You grin, cheeks heating up at his gesture as you feel your chest swell. Nat turns to you, a sly smirk on her face as she sips her iced coffee. “I take it that things with you two are going well?” she asks, making you tear your attention away from the field. You grin even wider before answering, “Yeah, things are great.”

You have to admit, you’d never think you would end up dating a football player– and when Bucky approached you one night at a random party to ask you out, you halfheartedly said yes, expecting that he would just take you to a random sports bar and try to hook up with you the same night. Fortunately, the date went better than expected with him bringing you to his favorite taco truck downtown and driving you to one of those retro drive-in movie theaters. However, he failed to check what movie they were playing that night and had the both of you watch a random Scandinavian film with no subtitles. In the end, the two of you decided on staying in the car and get to know each other more with the movie long discarded in the background. 

Eventually, you ended up going on a few more dates after that and got to know how sweet he really was. Sure, he was still a jock and was still getting a hang of being in a committed relationship, but you could see him actively put the effort in it so you were more than happy. 

You hear their coach blow his whistle, signaling the end of their practice which prompts you and Nat to jump from your seats and head down to the field to meet Bucky and Steve. Nat gets there first, crashing into Steve’s embrace, almost knocking him over. You laugh at the interaction before your eyes land on Bucky’s. With his helmet off, you have the opportunity to finally see his face. His hair was flat from his helmet with a few strands clinging to his forehead, the eye black on his cheeks smudged due to the sweat, and his mouth stretched into that boyish grin you grew to love. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asks playfully as you approach him. He puts his helmet down to wipe the beads of sweat on his face. “Just looking for some hot jocks to kiss,” you tease, earning a laugh from him before he wraps his arms around your waist. “Find anyone you like?” he plays along. You smile, snaking your arms to the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah, I got one right here,” you giggle as you pull him into a kiss. It was soft and slow, and you could taste the saltiness of the sweat on his upper lip, but you didn’t care. 

“Hello to you too, dollface,” you hear him mumble between your lips before pulling away.  “I’m taking Steve to that new pizza place that just opened near campus, come with us?” he asks, shaking his head which elicited droplets of sweat to fly towards you much to your disgust. “You’re such a boy for doing that,” you grumbled. “But yeah, count me in.”

He smiles, but before he could get another word in, Nat interjects, “Count me in, too!” 

Bucky shakes his head, “Nuh uh, you’re not invited. Steve told me how sick he was of you and how loud you snore when you sleep.” Nat gasps before playfully hitting Steve in the chest, earning an “ow” from him. “You told Bucky?!” she shrieks, but before she could protest even more, Steve pulls her into a kiss, muttering a quick “I love you”, then runs towards the shower room. Bucky turns back to you, giving you a swift kiss. “Pick you, guys, up in 20.” 

As he was leaving, he looks back over at Nat and lets out a few loud snores, prompting her to throw a handful of dirt towards him. “Screw you, Buchanan!”  

–––––

A few days later, Bucky walks out of the field, his bag hanging from his shoulder, a cold breeze brushing through him as he begins to walk back to campus. “Hey, Buck, solid practice today,” Sam Wilson, one of the tackles, pipes up from behind him. “Yeah, man, good job today,” Bucky replies, giving his teammate a fist bump. “Me and Parker are gonna grab a few drinks, you coming?” 

Bucky laughs, the thought of Parker getting tipsy over a few pints entering his mind. He shakes his head, “I’ll pass tonight, man. Might go see my girl.” 

Sam smirks before clasping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Alright, see you around.” 

“Hey, take care of Parker, alright? Don’t want his aunt to find out he got wasted over a few cocktails!” Bucky calls out, earning a cackle from his teammate as he walks away. 

He checks the time to find out practice ended a few minutes early so he sends you a quick message, knowing you’re probably still in class. 

hey doll practice finished early

want me to walk you to your dorm? i should be able to swing by to pick you up from class

He waits for a few minutes before hearing a ping from his phone, gaze immediately falling to the screen. 

no need. didn’t go to class today wasn’t feeling well. 

oh? you want me to bring you some soup?

no its ok. thank u tho

anything for you, baby

do you want me to come over tho? 

maybe next time, bucky. sorry

Bucky frowns, taking notice of the difference in the way you typed. You were colder than usual and you’d usually want to see him even when you weren’t feeling the best. He’s a bit disappointed too, wanting to take care of you until you get better, but knows to respect your wishes. So he brushes it off. 

He shoots you a quick text saying he hopes you feel better soon before messaging Sam to say he’ll catch up with him and Parker in a few. 

Looks like he’ll take up Sam’s offer after all. 

–––––

Bucky cranes his neck over to the bleachers, but frowns when his eyes land on Nat sitting alone. You didn’t come to his practice today. Bucky would’ve been fine about it, but he knows you didn’t have any conflicting classes at this time and you would’ve messaged him beforehand if you weren’t able to come for whatever reason. 

“Maybe she’s still feeling under the weather,” Steve reasons, following his best friend’s gaze towards the seats.  

Bucky nods absentmindedly in response, “Yeah, I guess so.”

He was trying so hard to hide the fact that he was getting increasingly worried. He also doesn’t want to seem too clingy considering you’ve only been seeing each other for a short time. He’s only been in a handful of serious relationships before, and most of them happened when he was still a clueless teenager in highschool. You were the first person he was willing to be fully committed to after a few months of fooling around in college so he definitely does not want to screw things up.

After practice, he asks Nat if she knew where you were only to find out that Nat was just as clueless as he was. With a huff, Bucky fishes his phone out of his pocket. 

missed you at practice today. still feeling sick? 

“Hey,” Steve calls from behind him, Nat trailing closely behind. “Nat and I are gonna go study at the library, see you there?” 

Bucky snorts. “By study at the library you mean get frisky by the shelves at the back? Yeah, I think I’ll pass.” 

Steve laughs as Nat drags him away from the field, patting Bucky’s back comfortingly before fully parting ways. This action goes unnoticed as Bucky’s eyes remain glued to his phone, waiting for your reply. 

A few minutes pass and he grows antsy. He hesitantly types another message. 

baby? 

This time, you read the message, but still don’t reply. Bucky runs his hand through his hair, a sign that he was growing anxious. He looks around the field, desperately trying to find someone to talk to so he could take his mind off of you. To his dismay, the rest of the team either left or were still in the showers. 

Bucky thinks about his next move. 

i’m coming over. 

He quickly stuffs his phone in his pocket and practically sprints over to your dorm, a million things racing in his mind. His chest tightens at the thought of you being in trouble, not really knowing what to expect when he sees you. If he sees you. 

Bucky shakes his head to get rid of the image of him turning up at your dorm only to find it empty– he wouldn’t know where to begin looking for you considering you won’t reply to his messages. This is the first time you acted like this towards him, and Bucky tries to recall everything he’s said to you lately, attempting to think of anything that could have upset you. His pace slows down as he begins to question if he was overthinking things, his mind tricking him into thinking that he was being too clingy and it might turn you off. But with the absence of your replies and the assurance that you’re okay, Bucky’s strides become bigger and he picks up speed towards your dorm. 

A head of brown hair meets his gaze as the door to your apartment swings open upon his knock. “Hey, Wanda,” Bucky greets your roommate, chest heaving and beads of sweat adorning his forehead. “I’m sorry for barging in all of a sudden. Is she..?”

Before he could finish his sentence, Wanda nods, opening the door wider for him to come in. Bucky nods his head as he enters. “She’s in her room,” Wanda mumbles before closing the door behind him. 

Bucky mutters a “thank you” before walking towards your door, about to turn the handle, but hesitates for a second. Slowly taking his hand off the brass knob, he raises a hand and places two soft knocks on the door. “Doll,” he calls, loud enough that he’s sure you hear him, but gentle enough to not startle you. When he doesn’t hear a reply, he continues, “Can I come in?” 

A few seconds later, a soft click from the other side fills his ears. Bucky takes this as a signal to slowly turn the knob and peak inside. He barely caught a glimpse of you walking back to your bed before he sees you pull the covers back to climb in, reassuming the position he figured you were in before you unlocked the door. 

Bucky steps inside and if it wasn’t for him shutting the door behind him, separating the two of you from the noises outside your bedroom, he wouldn’t have heard the sniffles that were coming out of your mouth. Your back was facing him, but he can clearly tell that you were hugging your knees to your chest as you tried to control your breathing, desperately attempting to conceal your cries. 

“Baby…” he breathes, approaching you cautiously and planting himself by your feet. Only then does he catch a glimpse of your face, your eyes puffy and cheeks tinted pink, presumably from crying for an extended period of time. Bucky frowns upon seeing you in this state. He’s seen you cry before, but it was usually from a sad movie or being stressed with homework. He doesn’t know why you are crying now, but he’s determined to find out. He places a hand on one of your calves and begins to rub soothing circles on it. “Did something happen?” 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice as you begin to wipe the tears that were still trickling down your cheeks. “Wanna tell me why you’re crying?” Bucky persists, eyes still fixed on you. You shrug and the room falls silent as you close your eyes.   

Bucky hears you take a deep breath before finally piping up. “Just feeling a little down,” you mumble, voice hoarse and barely loud enough for Bucky to catch. He moves his hand from your calf to one of your feet, giving it a soft squeeze before beginning to slowly press on its sole, easing the tense muscles and giving you a brief moment of peace. 

Bucky tries to think of what to say, but is interrupted by the sound of his phone going off. Clicking his tongue, he grabs his phone to find a text from Pietro.

hey wya? im at the study hall 

Cursing to himself, he suddenly remembers that he and Pietro agreed to meet tonight to work on a project they were partners in. Typing a quick reply to say that he’s on his way, he turns back to you before leaning over to press a kiss on your temple. “We all get blue sometimes, doll. We just gotta hang on, you know?” he attempts to comfort you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I gotta run, promised Pietro we’d do that project tonight. But I hope you feel better soon, baby. If you need anything, just text me, okay?” 

–––––

You don’t text him at all that night. 

In fact, if it wasn’t for the good morning text Bucky sent the next day, Bucky thinks you wouldn’t have texted him at all. Your replies grew colder and you became more distant, and Bucky was suffering. 

“Dude, what’s up? If you’re not busy being a total grump, you’re staring at your phone like you’re expecting something to pop out of it,” Steve points out as he, Bucky, and Nat sit in the cafeteria to have lunch. Bucky grumbles before slamming his phone face down on the table and sliding it away from him. “It’s (Y/N),” he starts, “she’s been acting off for days now.”

Steve and Nat share a look before Nat pipes up, “Have you tried asking her why?” Bucky scoffs. “Well, duh!” Bucky exclaims, running his hands through his hair. “I went over to her’s last night, but she just told me she was just feeling a little down.”

“And what did you say?” Steve asks. Bucky’s eyes meet his friend’s as he sighs. “I told her everyone gets sad and that we should just hang on. I left after that because I had to do that history project with Maximoff.”

The table falls silent and Bucky begins to zone out, thinking that the conversation would end there, but is quickly brought back to reality when something hits him dead center in the face. “Ow!” Bucky shouts as his hand flies up to cradle his nose. His eyes land on the table, a bread roll laying in front of him, causing his gaze to shoot up at the red head sitting across him. “Did you just throw a bread roll at me?” Bucky asks, his eyes wide with disbelief and confusion. 

“Well, duh!” Nat mocks, rolling her eyes at the brunette. “I always thought football players were dumb because of how much trauma their heads go through every game, but you’re on a whole ‘nother level, Buchanan.”

Bucky blinks. “Care to elaborate?”

Nat lets out an exasperated sigh before Steve butts in, “She’s obviously going through something, Buck. You can’t just tell her to suck it up.”

“Hellooooo!” Nat interjects, waving her hand in front of Bucky’s face as if what they were pointing out was the most obvious thing in the world. “She isn’t some jock going through a losing streak or something, actually be there for her, you know?” 

“Would you cut me some slack? It’s the first serious relationship I’ve been in since highschool, I’m still getting a hang of things again,” Bucky glares. He eyes the bread roll in front of him before giving in and grabbing it to take a bite. Nat watches him, a look of disgust adorning her face. 

The three of them sit in silence as Bucky contemplates on what to do. He picks up his phone to see no new messages from you, but his eyes catch the time. He knows you don’t have classes right now, and he figures you would just be in your dorm. He doesn’t want to ruin things with you, so he jolts up from his seat, catching the attention of the couple in front of him. “I’m gonna fix this,” he mumbles to himself before storming out of the cafeteria to head over to you.

“Atta boy!” Steve calls after him.

Bucky can feel his heart in his throat as he shakily knocks on your front door. To his surprise, you answer the door this time. His mouth starts to form a smile, but quickly turns into a frown when he takes in your form. At first, his heart skipped a beat when he noticed that you were wearing one of his shirts which was too big for you, the hem of it ending just by your thighs, and the bottom of one of his boxers peeking through it. 

But once he caught the way your shoulders were slumped and the dark circles around your eyes, he knew better than to celebrate. “Hey,” he exhales, flashing a sad smile, “can I come in?” 

You nod wordlessly before leaving the door ajar and making your way towards the couch. Bucky steps inside, shutting the door behind him before following suit. He sighs when he sees you on the couch, knees tucked closely to your chest and you watch whatever show is playing on the TV, eyes in an absent daze. 

He takes a seat beside you, draping an arm across the back of the couch only for you to launch yourself towards him like it’s a reflex. You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his chest as he instinctively encases you in an embrace. Bucky’s heart breaks as he hears you rack out a sob, his thumb beginning to rub circles on your shoulder. 

He gently places a kiss on your forehead as he feels his shirt become damp with your tears. “I’m sorry for leaving so soon the last time I was here,” he mumbles, lips still pressed to your temple. 

You don’t answer back right away and Bucky is forced to listen to you cry, his heart shattering after every noise that comes out of your mouth. 

“It’s just a drag,” you say between sniffles, “the world’s so mean.” 

Bucky furrows his eyebrows, not really understanding what you mean, but tries to think of something to say. His conversation with Steve and Nat replay in his mind as he desperately thinks of a reply, determined not to mess things up like last time.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, testing out the waters. He takes note of your silence and whispers, “Something’s breaking my baby’s heart and I wanna know what.” 

You let out a soft huff. “That’s the problem. I don’t know why I feel so down.”

The room falls silent. Bucky could hear his heartbeat in his ears, he felt his hands grow sweaty, his throat became dry, and his eyes began to prickle as tears started to form. He prays to whoever was listening before he asks. 

“Is it me?” 

“No, god no,” you shoot up, detaching yourself from him much to his dismay. Your eyes wide as he stares back at you with the same expression. Bucky looks down and begins to fiddle with his hands, another nervous tick of his, and you realize why he’s been so persistent about finding out what was making you upset. 

Bucky was afraid that he was the reason you’re in pain. 

You attempt to pacify his thoughts by placing your hands on both sides of his face. Bucky lets out a shaky breath as he leans into one of your hands, peppering it with feather-like kisses. You give him a teary smile. “It’s just that life’s so hard sometimes, you know?” 

Bucky gives you a smile in return, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he stares at you, trying to dig through the deepest parts of his brain to come up with something, anything, that could possibly make you feel better.

But before he could, you remove your hands from his cheeks and place them on your own as you wipe tears that you didn’t even know were flowing down your face. You stand up, causing Bucky to look at you in confusion. “You should go.”

“What? No,” he protests, standing up following you as you begin to walk towards the front door. Bucky’s mind is racing. 

Come on, dumbass, say something. Anything!

He opens his mouth, “Baby–”

“I just need to rest, Buck,” you interrupt, opening the door. “It’s not you, I promise.”

You press a kiss on his cheek as he looks down at you with sad eyes. 

You let out a small smile, “I’ll text you, okay?”

–––––

But you don’t.

You don’t text him even the day after that. 

Bucky’s mind was spinning. He felt absolutely helpless, and if it wasn’t for the harsh sound of a whistle filling his ears, he wouldn’t have snapped out of his daze. 

“Barnes!” the voice of his coach was enough for him to remember that he was in fact in the middle of the football field in the middle of practice. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, but if you can’t pull yourself together then you’re benched for the next game. You hear me?” the coach shouts from across the field. 

Bucky nods absentmindedly before shouting back, “Sorry, coach!” 

He shakes his head, trying to retain focus and deciding to pay you one more visit later. Bucky didn’t know what to do nor say, but he sure isn’t leaving your dorm without mending things. 

He sets those thoughts aside for now, and turns his attention back to his team. 

Bucky figured he had totally zoned out during practice because it was only when Steve sat beside him did he realize that practice was over. “(Y/N) still not feeling okay?” Steve asks, sympathy dripping from his every word as he looks at Bucky whose eyes were going through all of the unanswered texts he sent you today. 

good morning, doll

hope you’re feeling at least a little better today :) 

–

don’t forget to eat

<33 

–

just finished my trigonometry exam lol pretty sure i flunked it 

–

call me if you need anything, okay?

– 

found out parker has a gf lmaooo

i kept denying it til he introduced her to the whole team 

you’d like her :) she’s smart like you 

–

i miss you

please text me back 

–

heading to practice 

i miss you so much, doll 

Bucky drops his head in his hands, tears threatening to spill. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Stevie,” he croaks. “I just wanna see her smile again.” 

–––––

He’s met with Wanda again as the door to your dorm swings open. “Is she here?” Bucky stutters, not even bothering to apologize for showing up unannounced. Wanda shakes her head, “No, she’s been gone since last night.”

Bucky’s eyes widen as he swears he almost felt his heart stop at Wanda’s words. His breathing quickens and his chest grows tight as Wanda ushers him into the apartment. “What do you mean she’s been gone since last night? Has she talked to you today?” Wanda shakes her head again, “I’ve been texting her since this morning, but she hasn’t replied to any of it.” 

Bucky runs his hands through his hair as he begins to think about what could’ve happened to you. He starts to make a list of who to call, frantically trying to think of ways to locate you. This was it, he thought. This was how he lost you forever. If he just knew what to say at the right time, if he had just been a good boyfriend to you, this wouldn’t have happened and you wouldn’t be gone. 

He can’t breathe, his mind begins to scramble and his vision turns foggy. Bucky clutches a hand to his chest to try and ground himself, forcing himself to think. 

Think, Barnes, think! 

Just as he was about to dial 911, they hear the sound of keys rattling from the other side of the door causing both his and Wanda’s heads to snap towards its direction. Bucky holds his breath, uttering a dozen prayers in his head, hoping that it was you. 

It’s only when he sees you walk through the door did the tears finally start to flow. He bounds over to you and instantly throws his arms around you, pushing your head towards his chest. Bucky silently thanks whoever granted his prayers as one of his hands fly to rest behind your head before placing a bruising kiss on your forehead. After this, he rests his chin on top of your head and looks up, desperately trying to keep any more tears at bay. 

“I’ve been worried sick, doll, where were you?” he asks, trying to hide the fact that he’s been crying, but the crack in his voice gives it away. “Hmpff mff humff,” he hears you mumble against his chest, drawing a teary chuckle from him as he pulls away. “Sorry, come again?” 

“I went over to my parents to try and cheer myself up, I’m sorry I should’ve told you where I was going, I had my phone off the whole day and—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky laughs breathlessly, pulling you back into him. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He sees Wanda slowly retreat back into her room to give you space. The two of you stand there in silence, holding each other as you relish in the feeling of being in each other’s arms. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, honestly,” you say, quietly. 

“And that’s perfectly fine, too,” Bucky replies, cradling your face in his hands. “Listen I know I haven’t been dealing with this as best as I could but—”

“No, Bucky–”

“Let me finish, doll. I know I'm still trying to find my footing with all of this, but I want you to know that I'll be here no matter what, okay? When you’re happy, when you’re sad, or even when you don’t know what you’re feeling.”

You smile at him gratefully, resting your hands on top of his. “I don’t know what’s been going on with me recently. I think college is just getting to me or something. It feels like I always wanna find the rain even on a sunny day, you know?” 

Bucky continues to stare into your eyes, sadness glazing over them. You shake your head and begin to pull away, “Forget it, it sounds stupid–”

“Woah hey, no,” Bucky interjects, placing his hands on your hips. “It doesn’t sound stupid. I may not fully understand what you’re feeling, but I’m here, aren’t I?” 

You shake your head. “I really don’t wanna drag you into this, you have so many things on your plate–”

You’re interrupted by Bucky placing his lips on yours, engulfing you in a kiss so passionate, it takes your breath away. 

“But I’m in it for the long run with you,” he mutters against your lips. 

You stumble because for the months you’ve been together, the future never really fell into conversation between the two of you. With your schedules being so hectic, you and Bucky wordlessly settled with just going with the flow, and you were fine with that. But upon hearing the words leave Bucky’s lips, you began to think what this meant. 

Bucky tenderly places his hands back on your cheeks, rubbing them softly in order to soothe you. “If it feels like life is dragging you down, then hang on ‘cause I'll be your bodyguard,” he starts, earning a soft chuckle from you which urges him to continue.  “If you feel like the whole world is a red flag, then I'll be with you to look for the green, and hell, if you wanna find rain on a sunny day then I’ll be there to dance all through the pain with you, doll.” 

Tears start to flow down your face, once again, as you smile. You smile in a way that Bucky hasn’t seen from you for the past few days. He smiles back. 

“But you gotta try to talk to me, okay?” he pipes up, wiping your tears with his thumbs before pressing another kiss on the top of your head. “I know I’m a meathead, but I promise I wanna try to understand what you’re feeling so I can help.” 

You nod against his lips as Bucky lets out a breath. You stay that way for a while, and Bucky was already satisfied with how the conversation turned out, vowing himself not to push you further into talking things out. It isn’t until he hears you mumble the words he’s been longing to tell you for so long that he feels his world come to a halt. 

“I love you.” 

This is the first time these words were uttered between the two of you, and Bucky feels his chest tighten again, but this time, it was due to an overwhelming sense of joy. He pulls you tighter against him before breathing out, “I love you too. So much.”

It was then Bucky realized that he didn’t need to mend things when you’re feeling this way. As much as he’d like to take away the pain, he knew that reminding you that he’ll always be there despite it is, and always will be, enough.  

–––––

A/N: hope you guys liked this one! highly recommend listening to the song itself, cuz it brings me so much comfort and i hope it brings you comfort too! <33

[subwaysurf45]

This is based off reality lol but my partner has adhd so sometimes they forget to text me/contact me and it sends me into a shame spiral because my mom used to ignore me for days when I was a kid whenever she felt upset about anything (I mean she still cries it but I am an adult now so I’ve learned to live with it) but anyway it really traumatized me because now when people g hours without responding I immediately assume it was my fault and I dive into fix it mode (even if I did nothing wrong). So idk maybe you could do something where Bucky forgets to text reader about something and reader immediately panics and freaks out because ✨trauma✨

babe, I got you. thank you for the ask, I totally know what you mean. I have many friends who forget to answer my texts and you can't help but think they are mad at you, I fully understand. I hope this does what you are feeling justice.

A/N: there are a few time jumps, I hope it's not too confusing!

So many years ago… 

“Mom!” you screamed from outside her door, sitting on your knees while tears streaked down your face. 

She had hit the new record for how many days gone without speaking to you; three was the new record. You had forgotten what you had done but your mother definitely did not, she was an elephant with her memory. 

You were invisible to her, she walked right past you with nothing to say. There was seemingly nothing you could do except wait it out, but you needed your mother, you wanted her comfort. As hard as you banged against her door, as loud as you screamed, as hard as you cried; she did nothing. 

It was always the worst when you accepted defeat and headed off to your room, contemplating how you would punish yourself because obviously you had done something very wrong. There were times when you’d punch your own thigh, maybe scratch along your collar where the skin was thin, anything to continue the punishment. 

There had been times when she’d catch the bruises on your legs, immediately giving up the act to get you the bag of frozen peas. Everytime you thought it was over, you really thought she’d continuously love you. But then you’d forget to unpack the dishwasher or say something under your breath after an argument; and the cycle would repeat. 

Present Day...

“Bye, love,” you whispered and leaned up to kiss Bucky, wrapping your arms around his neck as he placed his gentle hands on your hips. His roommates were in the next room so you needed to be quick and quiet, no one needed to know about your kissing. 

“Text me when you get back to your place, yes?” Bucky muttered before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your collarbone, softly pulling the collar of your shirt with it, pressing a loving kiss to the mark that was blooming. 

You grew coy, “of course,” you whispered as you fiddled with the hem of his shirt, “bye,” you said at the last moment with your head still poking in the door. Bucky stood there and waved, when the door closed you headed down to your car and headed home. 

There was something about Bucky that was unlike any of the other guys you got close with, there was something so pure about him; even though he wasn’t all the time. On your first date he got you flowers and the next date you got him a bouquet. All the boys in the house laughed but after putting them in a vase and getting into his car you saw a tear roll down his cheek, just one before he swiped it away. 

He has one of the flowers pressed and in a frame sitting on his bedside table. 

There was an immediate uplift in your life after meeting Bucky, something to look forward to every morning with his texts and always feeling secure. You knew he was your guy, you no longer needed to suss out your mother before calling her to rant. Sometimes she was in a bad mood and would hang up on you, or even worse, sigh loudly until you got the hint. But if Bucky didn’t have time for a phone call he’d stop by on his way home from work or class, just checking in and then either picking you up or stealing a quick kiss before heading home. 

You looked after one another because both of you wanted to see each other happy, there was never a moment of malice between you two, just uplifting spirits. 

That wasn’t to say you were always perfect, there had been big fights and big emotions. But with Bucky, he sat down and talked about them, maybe after taking a walk so he wouldn’t scream in anger, but there would always be a drive to fix things and not let them linger. 

It took many relationships and friendships to realize your mother did a number on you, what you thought was normal raised a few brows; especially Bucky. 

“Babe,” Bucky said in his bed, sitting up against the headboard, “that’s fine,” he patted your butt. You were laying on your stomach and trying not to look at him. 

“But you…” you sighed, “we were-...” you sighed again. 

Bucky leaned over so you had to look at him, “I was in the mood last night- both of us were -and we had fun, even though I’m fine with something doesn’t mean you have to be as well.” it didn’t look like you believed him, Bucky chuckled and laid right behind you, “I don’t know what it’s like to be a woman and have period sex, babe, I don’t,” you cracked a smile, “just because I offer to lay down a towel doesn’t mean you have to agree, alright?” 

“But I feel bad,” you whispered, “but I also don’t like how messy it gets and I was tired because my iron level drops so bad and-”

“And there’s our answer,” Bucky giggled, “remember: we both have to agree, don’t just follow along, alright?” 

“Sure,” you whispered. Bucky obviously didn’t think that was good enough, so he tickled you until you were screaming in agreement, the most enthusiastic alright. 

When you got home you trudged up the stairs and laid on your bed, sending Bucky a text that you got home. 

You: got home perfectly fine, I did in fact almost hit a bunny but it ran out of the way

Bucky: seriously, you gotta be more alert

You: I know I was paying attention but it just came out of nowhere

Fixing your pillow, you sat up and stared at your phone. The typing bubble hadn’t even popped up yet, you needed him to know you were driving safe. With the extra time now you re-read his text, you immediately read it like he was chastising you. Giving you pointers because he felt you were a bad driver. 

You wanted him to answer, so he knew you knew you needed to be safe. As you sat there the gears in your brain began to spin, you shouldn’t be this tied to your phone, it’s unhealthy. Don’t be a clingy girlfriend, he’s not actually mad at you. 

You began to type again: babe? But you quickly deleted it. 

You sat for a moment: did I do something? That was too pathetic. 

Maybe a different angle: I bet that bunny is off with its family right now, having the time of its life. But even that was a little much, you could easily come across as rude. 

Instead you placed your phone to the side and tried to think back, was there something you did that pissed him off? Maybe he was just annoyed with something else and took it out on you. You could barely sit with yourself, this needed to get fixed. You couldn’t leave him mad at you for too long, he’d leave you. 

The thing about your mother was, she would never abandon her kid. But with Bucky, you’re just some girlfriend, easily disposable. 

*****

Bucky smiled down at his phone, looking at the text you sent him. “Gotta love her,” he whispered to himself as he sat on the couch, before he could begin to type Sam poked his head in the backyard. 

“Hey, need you to help with the barbeque,” Sam waved him outside. 

Bucky threw his phone beside him on the couch, “who’s grilling tonight?” 

“You,” Sam smirked, “you always do them so well."  

Steve was already out there, there was something wrong with the propane tank. All three of them used google and youtube to figure out why the tank wasn’t fitting in the BBQ, they had the same tank as last time but something wasn’t connecting. 

“There isn’t even a hiss when you start it up,” Bucky said as he fiddled with the switch, “that’s so weird, man,” Bucky scratched the side of his head. 

“I’m so fucking hungry,” Sam muttered to himself, “if we don’t get this figured out soon, I’m fucking ordering in again and I don’t care how much it costs.” 

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve nodded as he crouched down to try and come up with a solution. 

Though it took a while, they managed to hook up the new tank all by themselves. Bucky now stood by the grill, one hand on the bar on the lid, and watched the timer hit zero. The smell was amazing when he opened the top, feeling the hot steam escape after building up. Steve and Sam were inside, cutting up tomatoes and other toppings to put on their burgers. 

“Hey, bud,” Sam called from the screen door, “your girl is blowing up your phone.” 

Bucky turned around, “pass it over,” he flipped the last patty and walked over. Immediately, his heart sank as he saw the spammed texts and calls that were coming from you. The most recent text covered the others on his lock screen: I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry I made you upset. 

“What?” he whispered to himself, clicking on the notification to see the others in their text chain. 

You: Babe? 

You: the bunny is okay and so am I 

You: are you mad? 

You: I know you think this is so pathetic but the text you sent sounded like you were mad and I want things to be okay if your mad but also I’m freaking out over nothing because you probably aren’t

You: right? 

You: please pick up the phone 

You: Bucky I’m losing my fucking mind, please don’t shut me out if you’re upset, please 

You: please

You: okay

You: I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry I made you upset. 

Before Bucky could do anything, he was frozen as he stared at the typing bubble that popped up. When the text came through his heart cracked to pieces, it felt like he was dying. 

You: I’ve been bad and I deserve it

“Boys!” Bucky called from outside, Sam and Steve both ran out. “Something wrong with y/n, I need to go to her house, I’m sorry, someone’s gotta watch this right now.” 

“What’s wrong?” Steve had never seen Bucky more stressed out in his life, watching as he basically tugged his hair out. 

“She’s-” Bucky held out his phone, “look at this.” 

Sam was the one to take the phone, “dude,” he looked up at Bucky, “you sounded mad at the last text you sent, the ‘seriously’ doesn’t help and then-” 

“Holy shit,” Bucky snatched the phone from Sam’s hands and ran to the door to get into the backyard from the side of the house, fishing for keys as he got to his truck. 

You sat on the edge of your bed, Bucky beside you. “you-I don’t want you to meet my mom.” 

“Why?” Bucky rubbed your back, you looked so sad as you sat beside him, rubbing your wrist raw with anxiety. “I’m sure she’s not as bad as you think.” 

“No,” you shook your head, “she just messed me up,” you looked up at Bucky who was shaking his head, silently saying you aren’t messed up. “She would ignore me for days on end, I wouldn’t know if I was getting fed or dropped off at school somedays, and I was like seven. I-” you choked on your words, leaning into Bucky’s side as he kissed the top of your head, “I just always assume people are always mad at me- especially if I get ignored because I’m so used to it.” 

“That’s why you don’t want me to meet her?” Bucky whispered. 

“She doesn’t deserve to meet you,” you mumbled while you looked at the floor, “she’s in the past and I don’t want my present and past to mix.” 

Bucky nodded and planted a few more kisses on the top of your head, “I’ll always be here, I’ll always be in the present.” 

No speed limit mattered in this moment, the university kids crossing the street were perfectly timed. It was like the universe knew Bucky needed to get somewhere, all the lights were green and no one got in his way. When he parked in the driveway to your off campus apartment complex he almost forgot to turn off the car, he was sprinting out of there. 

He had a key to your place, you had a key to his. 

“y/n?” he bursted through the door, not hearing a single sound. He found you in your room, sobbing under the covers, you didn’t even hear him come in. “baby,” he whispered and quickly hugged you from outside the covers, making you jolt away from him. “It’s just me, I’m not mad, I promise, come here.” 

“You’re not?” you coughed out, looking over your shoulder at him. 

“I was about to text you back and then Sam needed my help with the barbeque and I forgot about it so quickly, you know how I get with that.” 

“I do,” you nodded. 

“And I was in charge of the burgers so I was outside, away from my phone- jesus, I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered and got under the covers, “it just slipped my mind, I didn’t mean to give you the silent treatment, I really didn’t.” 

“Deep down I knew you were busy but then I just…” you sighed and looked away, “I fed into my thoughts, what I knew since I was a kid: getting ignored is-” 

“I know,” Bucky kissed your temple, “don’t feel bad you went back to what you knew, anyone would do that, I’m just so sorry,” he held you tightly, kissing all around your head, “that text meant to be funny but it so wasn’t and I’m so sorry, but I’m not mad- all you need to know is that I’m not mad at all,” he felt you nod, “all one misunderstanding that really hurt you.” 

“I forgive you,” you flipped around to face him, “I’m just so mad I let her win again, I thought I was over this.” 

“I forgot to text you back for a long time,” Bucky brushed the hair out of your face, “you can only go so long and that’s normal, babe, totally normal.” You used his shirt to wipe the tears off of your face, “you don’t need to feel any shame or any embarrassment, alright?” 

“But I do,” the tears came back again but Bucky was quick to soothe them. He held you close and continuously whispered in your ear sweet nothing, making you feel loved. After a while you believed him, he wasn’t mad at you, and you leaned into his touch. 

“The only thing you deserve,” Bucky cupped your face to make you look at him, “is to be loved and listened to, alright?” 

You nodded, a smile gracing your lips for the first time in what felt like days, “alright.”

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[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— flufftober (day 17) —

Warnings: fluff

Prompt: Outdoor Event

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

@flufftober || flufftober masterlist

With the sun glaring down at the players and spectators, beads of sweat dripped down the back of your necks. Most people fanned themselves with hats while most players had wet their hair with ice-cold water. Some spectators had gone out and bought umbrellas to shade themselves from the harsh heat rays. Others had grabbed extra water bottles to keep cool.

“Bucky’s up next to bat,” Natasha said, pointing towards the dugout where he was standing with his helmet on and bat in his hand.

You grinned when you looked over and caught his gaze, blushing when he sent you a wink and smirk that told you exactly what he was thinking of. You adjusted your tank top that you wore under the jersey that Bucky had made specifically for you. With his last name stamped on the top, his number dead smack centre, and the words his girl at the bottom, there was no other jersey like it.

“And now Barnes, number 17, comes to swing. Now, as well as he bats, I think we can all agree that he’s got the best arm in the nation for pitching.”

The commentators introduced Bucky and Bucky ran towards the home plate, waving a bit as the pitcher let Bucky get comfortable.

Then Bucky placed the tip of his bat on the ground, swirling it around a bit.

“What is Barnes doing? Seems like he’s writing something before he swings. Can we get a zoom on that?”

The camera zoomed into the two letters he had etched into the gravel with a little heart next to it.

They were your initials.

The crowd gasped and then the camera cut to you for a moment before switching to Bucky, who was caught sending you a quick sheepish smile.

“Ah, the initials of his girl. Well, this is just so sweet. Boys take notes. Barnes is putting all of us to shame.”

[galatially]

❝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 x 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — my gaze lingered, waiting for you to notice me; how far would bucky barnes go to get the attention of his favorite tutor?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 3.5K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, thigh riding, oral (fem receiving), idiots in love

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — my old page did not deserve the fics i had written for it, lol. because this was fucking cute

“…hello? James?” 

Fingers snapped in front of his line of sight. He blinked and saw your brown eyes in front of him, your full lips fixed into a frown. 

“You asked me here, remember? I have my own midterms to study for.”

Bucky smiled, broad and smug. “You know you love bein’ around me, Y/N/N.”

“Please stop calling me that. Only people from home call me that.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair. “Can I call you sugar?”

You gave him a flat look. “You can pay attention to this study guide I spent all night drawing up for you.”

Bucky blew out a breath, turned to the notes in front of him, and studied. For ten minutes. He looked over at you. The tip of your tongue peeked from between your plush lips as you scrawled out notes with one hand and flipped through your textbook with the other. 

When had he ever been so entranced by someone before? 

“Looking at me isn’t going to help you pass your Calculus II midterm,” you chided. 

“I’m hungry. You?”

You set down your pen, a thick brow arched. “If we break for food, will you let me study?”

A wolfish grin stretched across his face. “Among other things.”

“Fine.” You slammed your textbook shut and gathered your things. “Meet me at Daly’s in fifteen.”

Bucky nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. “See you in fifteen.”

Fridays at Daly’s were your least favorite nights.

The small pub couldn’t have held more than one hundred people but everyone seemed to want to pack in like sardines. Whiffs of cologne, floral perfume, and body odor intermingled with the smell of bar food and alcohol. 

You sat at the bar, nursing a glass of pear and apple cider, eyeing the door for signs of Bucky. You raised your phone and surveyed the screen: half past eight. 

He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago! 

You sighed and took a sip of your drink. 

“Hey, Y/N/N.” 

Your childhood friend, Steve Rogers, took the stool beside you, his blue eyes bright. 

“Hey, Stevie,” you said, smiling. “What brings you here? I thought you had a study group tonight.”

He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “We’re taking a break to get some food and then heading back to my dorm. What about you? You not tutoring tonight?”

“I was. But my student wanted food and now he’s late.” You rolled your eyes. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”

“You even got dressed up,” the blond remarked. 

Your face warmed. “No, I didn’t!” Compared to what you normally wore, your fitted black jeans and lacy crop top were dressier. And maybe you dusted your favorite highlighter along the apples of your cheeks and swiped some of your trusty lipgloss on your lips. 

You didn’t do it for James Barnes. Far from it. 

“I just felt like getting a little cute, Rogers! Is that so bad?”

He put his palms up, a smirk on his lips. “I’m just saying you look mighty fine for someone you view as just a student.”

You took another sip of your cider. “I don’t think anything of James.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “James? As in Bucky Barnes?”

“Why does everyone call him Bucky? That’s such an odd nickname.”

“It’s short for Buchanan,” a voice answered. 

You and Steve turned and saw the man in question standing behind them. His brown eyes were hard as they looked between the two of you. “It’s my middle name. Everybody calls me Bucky.” He tipped his chin to Steve. “‘Sup, Rogers?”

“Yo,” Steve said, throwing him a two finger salute. He stood up from his barstool and turned to face Jo. “Text me later, okay? Let me know you got home okay.”

“I can get her home just fine.”

You shot Bucky a glare. “Yeah, okay, Stevie. Have fun with your study group.”

Steve pressed a kiss to your temple and gave a short nod to Bucky before disappearing into the crowd of coeds. 

“You and Rogers, huh? Didn’t peg you for the type,” Bucky said.

You narrowed your eyes. “And what type is that, James?”

“The girl that falls for the blond-haired, blue-eyed, all-American type.”

“Not that it’s any of your business who I spend my time with, Steve and I have been friends since grade school. He’s practically my brother.” 

His face softened. “I’m sorry, sugar. I didn’t know.”

You shrugged. “You never asked.” You knocked back the rest of your drink and slammed a ten dollar note on the bar. “Good night, James.” You slid off of the barstool and pushed past him. 

A hand gripped your wrist. “Y/M, wait. I’m sorry. I know I’m late but I can explain.”

You didn’t need an explanation, you didn’t care. Why should you? You weren’t even really friends. Glorified acquaintances at best. But despite yourself, you turned to face him, a dark brow raised. “Well? Spit it out.” 

“I was nervous.” Under the dimmed lights, you saw his cheeks turn red. “Can I be totally honest with you? I don’t need your tutoring.” 

You frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I signed up for your study sessions to get closer to you.” He took hold of your hand and threaded his fingers between yours. “I’ve been trying to find a way to get you to notice me and I figured that getting your help with a class was a good way.”

“Why go through all of that trouble, though?”

“Y/N.” Bucky looked you up and down. “I like you.”

Your jaw went slack. Did you hear him right? “You…like me?”

He tugged your arm and pulled you into his chest. His right thumb skimmed along the curve of your bottom lip. “I was pissed when I saw Rogers talking to you. Looked like you two were close.”

“We are,” you said, your voice hoarse. 

“Closer.”

You shook your head, your earrings hitting your cheeks. “Steve’s like a brother to me and I’m a sister to him. He’s dating a girl named Sharon from back home. She’s a Sociology major.” 

“Good to know.”

Bucky’s touch scorched your skin. When did his his free hand go to the small of your back? You couldn’t remember the last time a guy’s touch made you feel this way, if ever. But here you were, in James Buchanan Barnes’ arms in the middle of a dingy pub. 

“James, I — ”

“Have I ever told you I love when you call me James?” A slow smirk made its way onto his lips. “You make it sound so sensual. Sexy.” Your mouth dried. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, dazed.

“You’ll see.”

You had never put much thought to how Bucky’s dorm would look but you were surprised to see that he and his roommate were clean and organized.

Before you could say anything, his mouth slanted over yours. He buried his fingers in your curls and lightly tugged. The moan that left you was swallowed by the kiss. You fisted his shirt collar and yanked him forward. His kiss was sloppy, teeth and skin and tongues clashing together. 

“James.” His name was breathy as it left your lips. Your eyes flicked between his eyes and his mouth and that turned him on. Your chest rose and fell in exaggerated breaths. “What are we doing?”

“Something we should’ve done a long time ago.” Bucky kissed you again, harder than the first time. You moaned into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you onto his lap. Your clothed pussy ground against his thigh, your wetness dampening his pant leg. 

“You all wet for me, baby?”

“Yes, sir,” you teased, your voice husky. 

Bucky groaned and scooped your up into his arms and carried you to the bed. “Call me sir again and you won’t be able to walk for a week.” 

Your jaw went slack. You’d never heard him talk to you like that. So rough and authoritative. You put a hand on his chest. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

Your brown eyes searched his. “If we do this, we can’t be just friends. You know that, right? Everything changes.” 

“Oh, Y/N/N.” Bucky stroked the side of your face. “I’ve never wanted to be just friends with you.” He kissed you again. Both pairs of hands fumbled to remove their clothing as you ground your wet mound against his clothed thigh. “Gettin’ eager, huh, sugar?”

You pulled back, a half smile on your lips. “Are you even Southern?” 

“I’m an army brat,” Bucky answered, “But I spent more time in Kentucky.”

“Huh.” You smiled. “You should tell me more about your childhood sometime.”

“Sure. But right now, I’m fuckin’ desperate to be inside of you.” His eyes lingered on your plush mouth. “And I’m curious to know how many times I can make you cum.”

You made a guttural sound in the back of your throat. Your head was spinning; no one had ever spoken to you like this before. From your few sexual encounters in university, you found that most men advertised themselves opposite of how they were. You’d find yourself left unsatisfied and had sworn off of flings in lieu of tutoring and classes. 

You’d been sitting on Bucky’s lap for mere minutes and you were ready to give yourself over to him tenfold. 

“Well?”

You blinked. “What?”

“How many times do you want to cum?”

You rested your head into the curve of his shoulder. “You can’t just ask me questions like that, James.” 

A shudder rippled through Bucky. “Why not? I want you to feel good.”

You nipped at the skin peeking out from beneath his shirt collar. “I want you to feel good, too.”

He groaned and flexed his thigh. The friction made you throw your head back and a loud moan to spill from your mouth. “Fuck, baby, you sound like sin.” He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of her neck. He nipped and licked at the satin skin, chuckling when you hissed in pleasure. 

“Fuck.” 

You ground your wet cunt against his hard thigh, your grip on his shoulders tightening. Bucky’s hands found your hips and helped your build up a rhythm. Your breasts bounced as you rode his thigh and soft grunts and groans jumped from your honeyed mouth. You started moving faster, signaling you were close. “Fuck, James, I’m going to cum.”

Bucky tightened his hold on your hips. “You gonna cum from ridin’ my thigh? I haven’t even been inside yet.” He held you still and you whined, your brown eyes glaring and blown out. “I want to taste you.”

You eyes widened some. “What?”

He flipped them over and made quick work of your skin-tight jeans. His rough hands trailed along your hipbones and pelvis, tracing light circles in her skin. Your eyes screwed shut and you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. His lips replaced his fingers and you sucked in a sharp breath. You fisted tufts of his hair when you felt his warm breath on your cunt.

Bucky kitten-licked your sensitive bud and you arched your back off of the bed. He loved how responsive you were. He looked up at your writhing form and chuckled. 

“Your pussy’s weeping for me, sugar.”

“Stop teasing me,” you whined. He licked a stripe up your slit and you yelped. “James!”

“Keep saying my name like that, sugar. Let the neighbors hear.”

Neighbors? You were so far gone you didn’t care if the whole campus heard you. You just needed his mouth. Your head was spinning and your body tingled. 

“I swear to God, Bucky, if you don’t fuck me — ” 

Your words left on a moan as his tongue dove into your creamy center. You’d never gotten head like this, fast and hard. Bucky pinched and rolled your clit between two fingers and you gasped, squeezing his head between your thighs. “Oh, fuck! Fuck, yes!”

His laughter vibrated against your pussy. He’d been dreaming about what you’d taste like. His fantasies did you no justice. You were sweet like honey and he couldn’t get enough. He threw your legs over his shoulders and took hold of your hips to still you. Your moans were frenzied and throaty, echoing off of his dorm room walls. He felt your belly tighten and added two fingers as he sucked and lapped at your cunt. 

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m cumming!” A broken mix between a sob and a moan left your mouth and you went limp.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to catch your breath,” he said, smug.

You threw an arm over your face. “I can’t. No more.”

Bucky moved up your body. “Oh, baby. We’re going all night.”

Bucky had woken alone many times in his life. But waking up beside the imprint of what was your body burned something hellish in his chest. 

“Yo, Barnes!” His roommate, Sam Wilson, pounded his fist against the door. “I need to get changed for my next class! Tell your guest to find her own room!”

Bucky groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Come in, you idiot! ’S just me.”

The door opened with Sam’s head creeping around it. His brown eyes gave a tentative scan of the room before pushing the door and striding into the room. He looked his roommate up and down. “What’s that on your face?”

“What?”

“That look. Like somebody just kicked your damn dog in front of you.” Sam threw his shirt over his head and went to rifle through his wardrobe. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said on a sigh. 

“Bullshit. I’ve never seen you so hurt.” Sam draped a towel over his shoulder. “What, your little flavor not like you in the daylight?”

Bucky threw a pillow at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“What! I’m just askin’ a question!” Sam turned to face him, shower caddy in hand. “Whatever that girl did to you last night wasn’t what you needed.” He rolled his eyes and left Bucky alone in their room. 

“It’s what she did this morning,” Bucky said to himself. 

After not hearing from you for two weeks, Bucky had gone to the tutoring center to question you. Why were you ignoring him? Was the sex too far? Why did she leave him that morning?

He knocked on the glass window and saw Maria Hill, the librarian and director of the tutoring center, sitting at her desk. Her bespectacled blue eyes found his, a wide smile stretched along her lips. “James! I haven’t seen your name on the sign-in sheet in a while. What’s up?”

“Hey, Ms. Hill.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you heard from Y/N? I don’t have her number but she’s been ignoring my messages and I was getting worried.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought she put the bulletin on Blackboard.” Bucky raised a brow. “She’s been sick the past two weeks. Her roommate, Wanda, has been getting her coursework for her.”

“Oh.”

Ms. Hill gave him a small smile. “If you want to check on her, go talk to Wanda.”

Bucky nodded. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I’d find her, would you?”

“I’m sorry, no.” She pursed her lips in thought. “But I think her friend Steve would.”

“Hey, Bucky.”

There was no plausible reason for Bucky to have disliked Steve Rogers as much as he did. Well, he knew the reason. From what little Bucky knew about him from you and Sam, he was a nice guy. He was the football team’s running back, he tutored like you did, and vice president of Lambda Kappa Tau. Though he was too boy next door for Bucky’s taste, they could be great friends if they’d spent a night at Daly’s together. 

The local diner, Rusty’s, was quiet this afternoon.  Bucky had seen Steve on shift a few times he’d come in with you for breaks but they rarely spoke. “Hey, R — Steve. I’m sorry to interrupt you while you’re at work.”

Steve waved him off, a broad smile on his face. “No problem. What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask if you’ve heard from Y/N lately.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “Last I heard about her was a Snapchat message from Wanda last week. Said that she was banning contact to Y/N until she got better.” He lifted a shoulder. “We’ve texted a few times since when she’s awake but I haven’t seen her, no.”

Bucky hummed. “Well, at least I know she’s not ignoring me.”

“Ignoring you? What’d you do?”

“Nothing!” Steve raised a brow. “We just — we had a thing. A moment, really, last Friday.”

“After that night at the bar.”

“Yeah. I mean, I thought we were fine. But thinking back, maybe I came on too strong.” Bucky put his face in his hands and groaned. “I fucked up.”

“Look,” Steve sighed, “I can’t speak for Y/N but I’ve known her since fourth grade. She’s not someone that runs away from issues or people.” He chuckled. “Besides, she never fakes being sick. She’s too much of a workaholic.”

Bucky snorted. “Tell me about it.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve heard from some of the guys on the team that she was worse than some of their hardest professors. Though I don’t know why you were one of her tutees.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re in my buddy, Piet’s, STAT301 class. From what I’ve heard, Biostatistics is no walk in the park.” 

“If you’re talking about Maximoff, tell him he owes me coffee and a new notebook.”

“I will,” Steve said, laughing. A blonde came up beside Steve and motioned to the table across from where both men stood. “Let me finish up here. Thanks, Nadine.” He turned back to Bucky. “I’m going to give you Wanda’s number. Text her to see if Y/N willing to have visitors.”

“Thanks.” The right side of Bucky’s mouth quirked up. “You’re an all right guy, Steve.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Bucky. Maybe after you and Y/N figure your thing out, we can all hang. Me, you, Y/N, and my girlfriend, Sharon. It’d be nice.”

Bucky clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “I’d really like that.” 

“Y/N/N?”

From beneath your duvet, you poked your head out. “Yeah?”

“You’ve got a visitor. One of your students.”

You groaned. “Tell whoever it is that I’m indisposed, Wanda. Give them the number of my replacement.”

“You hiding from me, Y/L/N?”

Despite the pounding in your head, you jolted forward at the voice. Leaning against your doorway stood James Buchanan Barnes in all of his sexy glory. Suddenly, you were aware of your own state of dress: bloodshot eyes, oversized bonnet atop your head, and a low cut tank top with no bra. 

You squared your shoulders and narrowed your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to go through three people to find you,” he said. “You had me worried.”

Your face softened. “You don’t need to worry about me, James.” You gave a weak chuckle. “I’m just a little tired, is all.”

“Your roommate said that you overworked yourself.” He crossed the room and turned on your bedside lamp. In the soft glow, his brown eyes were soft as they took you in. His large hand cupped your forehead. “You still have a bit of a fever. Have you eaten today?”

“I just woke up,” you admitted. 

“Have you been drinking water?”

“There’s a water bottle in front of my side dresser.” You put your hand over his and moved it to your cheek. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Bucky smiled. “’S fine. I like taking care of you.”

You chuckled. “Don’t count me out just yet. Before you came, I was awake for three hours.”

“Bravo.” He moved his hand away from you face. “I want to talk about last Saturday. If that’s okay.”

You pulled your brows down. “What about it?”

“You left. No note, no text. You just left me alone.”

Your eyes flicked to your bedroom door. “Can you shut the door, please? This sounds like a private conversation.” 

He nodded and strode across the room, closing the door. When he turned to face you, you’d pushed your duvet off of your body and moved to the middle of your bed. 

“Come sit down.”

“Sugar — ”

“Please, Bucky.” He sighed and moved to sit beside you. “You told me that you liked me and I never answered.”

“You didn’t.”

“Well, I do. Like you, I mean. I don’t know why I never said anything.” You smiled at him. “Though the sex solidified it for me.”

“So to clarify: you like me, too, and you weren’t avoiding me?”

“Why would I avoid you? You’ve literally seen me naked!”

Bucky threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know! I thought that I did something or that you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Of course I like you, you clown.” You rested your head against his shoulder. “So much.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple. “Enough to go on a real date with me?”

“Are you going to be on time?”

“For you, I’ll be early.” 

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i'll say it once, i'll say it again: brown 👏🏽 eyed 👏🏽 bucky 👏🏽 supremacy 👏🏽

[orions-athenaeum]

When You're Smiling- Prologue

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x F!reader

Synopsis: Throughout your life you have been labeled "boring" because of your quiet, thoughtful attitude. For example, you weren't a fan of parties, frats or really anything that required you to be around big groups of people. But after being dragged to a party, you meet someone who seems determined to prove that you have an adventurous side as well.

Chapter Warnings: panic attack, anxiety, drinking, sexual harassment

Word Count: 1.5k

Prologue

“Please Y/n. You don’t even have to stay for that long.” Sitting on the floor of your apartment, you continued to track your eyes over the pages of your textbook. You weren’t really retaining any information, you hadn’t been since your roommate Wanda barged in five minutes ago and began pestering you to go to a frat party with her. 

“Seriously, a night out would be good for you. You don’t even have to talk to anyone, but at least leave this apartment. Honestly, it’s getting kinda sad that you just sit here with your books every night-” 

“OK.” You cut off her somewhat offensive rambling by roughly slamming your psychology textbook shut. “If you are so concerned about my social life I will, for forty five minutes, go to this party.” Wanda squealed and threw her arms around you. 

“Thank you, I promise once you get there you’ll have so much fun!” Your face remained neutral but inside your stomach was beginning to twist itself into a tight knot. There was a reason you didn’t really like parties, of course you wouldn’t judge your friends for going to as many as they could, they just weren't your scene. “-oh, I’m gonna call Nat, she can bring over some tops for you to try, let me grab my phone, I’ll be right back.” You didn’t realize you had zoned out long enough for Wanda to bring your other friend Natasha into the equation. When Wanda left the room you tried to distract yourself from spiraling by watching the rain dance against the window. This is “cozy romance novel reading” weather, not “get wasted with a bunch of randos” weather, you thought to yourself, but then instantly shook your head and brushed your glasses up to rub your eyes. Maybe you were in desperate need of a party. Or not. Because frat parties were the worst. The last one you were at was three years ago during your freshman year: you went in excited to try something new, and ended the night drenched in someone else’s beer, with tears running down your cheeks and mascara staining your face. You didn’t know who spilled beer on you, but the tears and mascara combination was courtesy of having to watch the guy you liked make out with not one, but three girls that night. To top it all off, one of your heels had snapped, forcing you to walk home in 30 degree weather with no shoes. So you weren’t a fan of frat parties, and maybe you shouldn’t base your judgements on one awful experience, but you had never been party type before and that night seemed like a sign from the universe confirming, “you and parties do NOT mix.” 

Wanda’s hurried footsteps interrupted the mental storm that had been picking up speed over the time she was absent. 

“Ok, Nat is on her way, and she’s bringing options for shirts, and I have this new pair of heels that would look so-” 

“No. No heels, sorry Wan.” You said somewhat sheepishly. You hadn’t known Wanda yet when you went through the frat debacle a couple years ago and for some reason you had elected to withhold that story from your two closest friends. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t brought it up, maybe you figured they would stop trying to force you to party every weekend, or maybe they would insist you give it another try. The latter is what you were afraid of, and knowing Nat and Wanda, the former was not likely to happen. 

Wanda gave you a curious look, but if she thought something was off she didn’t say anything. Instead, she ran to the door as a buzz sounded on the intercom. 

__________________________________________

An hour later, you were dressed in a long sleeved open back top, baggy jeans, and a pair of well loved (extremely dirty) shoes. Wanda and Nat practically dragged you out of your apartment and down the street, laughing and talking animatedly all while you stayed quiet and counted the yellow taxis that rushed past you.

When the three of you finally made it to the party, an inky darkness had settled over the city. The grass beneath your feet was still damp from that afternoon’s rain and you couldn’t help but frown at how humid it had become, dreading how suffocating it was going to be inside the house. 

“Do you wanna grab something to drink?” Nat yelled over the bass as you tried to squeeze through the crowded entryway. You were immediately overwhelmed, strobe lights were flashing against the walls, music was shaking the floor and hot, sweaty bodies kept bumping up against you. You closed your eyes in an attempt to somehow center yourself. After a few seconds of futilely waiting for a moment of peace, you let your eyelids flutter open and to your annoyance, Nat and Wanda were no longer standing beside you. You knew it wasn’t their fault, and that they would never intentionally leave you alone, but you couldn’t stop the panic that began rising in your chest from the absence of your two friends. Not knowing what else to do, you shouldered your way through the mass of drunk college students, searching for a quiet place to stand and look for Nat and Wanda. You had scouted out a small, unoccupied alcove under the stairs and made your way to it. Two steps and you would have gotten some reprieve from the chaos, but instead a tall body blocked your path and sharp brown eyes eyed you up and down. 

“Haven’t seen you at one of these yet.” His voice was slightly slurred and the mix of alcohol and cheap cologne pouring off of him was almost nauseating. “You lookin’ for someone to spend a little time with?” He asked inching closer and forcing you to press your back against the railing of the staircase. Now your breath was coming much too quick and the familiar numbness sprouting in your fingertips told you that you were on the verge of having a panic attack. You’d been through enough over the past years to recognize when one was coming. You also knew that if you could’t find a calm place to ground yourself in the next few minutes you were going to break down. With your mind in panic mode, you glanced over your shoulder and saw that the staircase you were pinned against led to a seemingly quiet hall. Deciding that was your only option, you shoved the guy’s chest and used his sluggish, drunken state as an opportunity to escape his grasp and head towards the stairs. You jumped over the “Stay Downstairs or Thor Will Kick Your Ass” sign that was haphazardly strung across the bottom entryway and took the stairs two at a time to get to the hall. There were no lights on in the corridor, but the strobes from the party downstairs provided you with enough light to find a doorknob. You desperately pushed on the door, but it was locked, so you ran to the next one, only to find yourself in the same situation. You didn’t notice the faint glow under the third door you tried and you almost cried in relief when the knob turned without any resistance.

You hurried into the room and closed the door, pressing your back against the cool wood and shutting your eyes. Starting at 100, you took a deep breath and exhaled counting backwards by three in your head. In your anxious state, you barely noticed the tears that were rushing down your cheeks. And you really had not noticed that you weren’t alone in this room. 

“Uh, is everything- are you ok?” A baritone voice caused your eyes to shoot open as you desperately tried to figure out its source through your blurred vision. Bringing your hands to your eyes you began to furiously wipe away the tears, ignoring the slight burning caused by the friction from your shirt against your skin. 

“Hey, whoah, hold on, you're gonna hurt yourself.” The voice said again, this time with more urgency. Suddenly, a pair of warm hands wrapped carefully around your wrists, gently pulling your hands away from your face. You were able to blink back enough tears to make out a head of blonde hair, broad shoulders, and kind eyes. The man in front of you continued to coax you down from your panic, and slowly the tears stopped falling as your breaths evened out. As embarrassed as you were that this saint of a man had to witness your anxiety attack you were grateful for his help. But just as you began to offer your thanks the door was thrown open, and a new, deep voice shouted over the blaring music downstairs. 

“Steve, what the hell are you doing locked away in your-” his words trailed off as his steel blue eyes landed on your tear stained face…

Chapter One coming this week!

[ghostlyfleur]

♡ college!bucky x inexperienced!girlfriend

[peteyprecious616]

I miss you

Pairing: College!Bucky x reader

Summary: You were best friends with him. You loved him. You spent all your time with him. As childhood best friends, you always made time for him. All of your time. But at the end of the day would it be enough for him to love you back?

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: hey everyone. Im slowly getting back into my writing and making more time for it. I got some inspiration from a few lyrics since I've recently been on a 2000's alternative rock kick. Picture used doesn't belong to me.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol; angsty angst and maybe a little more angst

🎶 Don't waste your time on me 🎶

🎶 You're already the voice inside my head 🎶

—

You should have stepped out of the house the second you saw his lips pressed against hers. The toes that were shoved into the front of your heels had stayed glued to the last stair that led up to the frat house, leading your sight to the couple that had strayed down the hallway in an uproar of giggles and soft, lingering caresses that only you had noticed.

In a sea of bodies that crowded the doorway of the home, it was very easy to make out the two people that had been making out in the darkened, carpeted hallway that led to many rooms occupied. You should have known not to come, but you didn’t listen. 

He insisted. 

Bucky, your best friend, insisted. Begged. Pleaded. 

His pouty smile and baby blues worked on everyone around campus, especially you, whenever he asked for something. “Pretty please, babe. Just tonight. I'll be there with you, don’t worry. I got you.” 

It didn’t take much for you to grab your black heels and your basic frat party attire, a cute dress that was easy to stuff into the back of your closet or to throw away since most of it would be covered in drunken-spilled alcohol. But it wasn’t easy to grasp the way his eyes lit up when he looked at other women at parties. Never you. 

—

You loved Bucky, he was your best friend, your hype man, the one you could count on for almost anything. Except love you the way you wanted him to. 

You grew up loving him. You grew up knowing who he was, what he liked, and what he wanted to be. You experienced everything with him. Talking through new relationships, new sports scholarship opportunities, homework, another new relationship, college applications, and anything else that filled up the air between you two. 

It was easy loving his charismatic, outgoing personality. Everyone knew about him and loved him. It wasn’t easy to hate him. You could never hate him. But he could never love you. 

You tried to ignore the small, “she’s so beautiful’s” and “I need to meet her’s” because he would be sitting on your college bunk bed sighing the words as he dramatically laid his beautiful dark curls upon your pillow. You always invited him over to tell you anything. Your door was always cracked, waiting for his fingers to slip easily around the doorframe, his charming, shining smile and loud, “I'm here sweetheart” to always announce his appearance, even though you could hear his footsteps as soon as he stepped foot down your dorm hallway. 

So when he noticed that this weekend there was a party that some person would happen to be at, there was always a party. And there was always a person that wasn’t you, but he wanted or needed you to come. So how could you say no? 

—

So as you walked towards the slightly crowded couch, a cold bottle pressed to your sweating hands, and a scared, almost-lost look that stuck to your face, you knew it was going to be a long night. You didn’t go search for Bucky, obviously, you found him, but he hasn’t come to find you yet. You knew it would be easy to just leave. To just forget that he even asked you to attend this party because sometimes he doesn’t notice. Sometimes he forgets about you. Sometimes he's busy without you. But he doesn’t know it bothers you, because it shouldn’t.

He’s well-known. 

He’s smart.

He’s super sweet. 

He’s attractive and easy on the eyes. 

He’s everything that everyone wants to be or have. Including you. 

You always thought about the future. Your future with him. But you’re different people. College was meant to create pathways for people to become better at independence. To find new friends, and find a meaningful job. Or at least that's what most high school teachers and college professors say anyway. 

You were ready to move on and move away from him. But how can you move away when you could choose to be so close to him? You could stay. He might need you. 

Until he doesn’t. 

You noticed his polite “excuse me’s” being mumbled in the heavy crowd that surrounded in front of you. As the party got louder, you got quieter. Hoping that he wouldn’t see you because you knew that his face would just burst with happiness once he noticed you made it. You made it for him. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you made it.” His large hand waved in front of your glazed-over eyes, your smile hidden under your frown had popped up with ease. His smile radiated and made yours grow instantly. He made you smile. He made you laugh. But he also made you cry. 

He pulled you into a consuming hug, “Yeah I did. Just for you.” You huffed into his chest, a little sweaty, and his usual comforting smell that lingered just above it. It was perfect as usual. 

“You always do, sweetheart. It means a lot to me.” He laughed, his one arm wrapped around your back, his hand making its way to cradle your head that rested on his shoulder. Just a few more seconds in his arms. Please. 

“How long should we stay?” He asked you, as you lifted your gaze to his face. His jaw shielded his gaze towards you as you cocooned closer to his chest.

But the way that his other arm was turned away from you, another woman’s hand wrapped around his wrist waiting for your conversation to end, it hurt. You knew that he would stay to have a few drinks with you. A few songs you would jump and rock your head to while he would dance right next to you, laughing at each other’s off-balanced, awful dance moves. But you knew that she would be important to him. And you didn’t want to take away his happiness. Even though it meant losing a little bit of yours. 

“Can we leave now? I’m kind of tired, Buck.” You whispered. Hoping he wouldn’t notice the stray tear that slid under your eyes. Wiping it away before he could see the tear line staining your cheek. He nodded and smiled. You noticed his eyebrows shifted with concern, even though he knew you didn’t really like parties. He wanted you to always be comfortable but he wanted you to have fun too. He wanted to spend time with you, wherever that may be. 

“Are you sure?” He whispered in your ear, trying to combat the loud shouting and drunk singing that went on behind you. 

You look at the woman standing behind Bucky, “she's so beautiful.” 

Yeah, she is, Bucky. 

And you could see the way they both wore the same smile. The same, I'm so in love, smile that you couldn’t take this chance away from him. 

“Yeah, I'm sure, Buck. Let's go.” You gotta let go, Y/n. 

He walked you back to your dorm, as he always did. With his shoulder rubbing up against you, and his fingers wrapped around her hand. 

He didn’t need you. 

—

 summer after your senior year

“Do you think we’ll get married, Buck?” Your eyes studied the patterns on your popcorn studded ceiling. Your fan guided the hot air around the bedroom as Bucky mirrored your position. His hands folded over his chest, his tired eyes trying to close but still being pried open by your questioning, quiet voice. Late summer nights with him were always the best. The smallest, but deepest thoughts being picked and prodded at. The hot air seeped through your brain, loose thoughts being pulled from your mouth without any timing. 

“What do you mean? Of course, we will.” His body turned towards you in interest. His eyes caught your fatigued look on the ceiling. He noticed the corners of your lips turned slightly downward. Your mind was lost in what-ifs. 

You have beautiful lips, Bucky thought. Even painted with a frown. 

“I hope you love her, Buck.” You spoke louder as you turned towards him. 

He knew he loved you. You were his best friend. He cared for you. Probably more than any other man would. 

But he would never love you enough. Because you were never going to be the person he would end up with. Because he noticed that everyone loved him. Except you. 

So you let him hug you to his chest. His promises that night that you would find love too. That someone would love you the way you should. But you knew that when you felt his breath pressed against the top of your head. His lips pressed into your hair while talking about some off-topic conversations that you tried to distract yourself with. But it wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to be loved. Unless it was him. 

—

He met your gaze as he stood in front of you. Your lips try to keep up the facade that you’ve held for the past hour. Listening to his loving gazes and undying promises made everyone swoon. Your heart skipped beats when you heard her giggles. Her tears mirrored yours. But she was happy. She cried happy tears. While Bucky’s soft hands, his thumbs carefully wiped under her eyes, reassuring her and making her smile.  

You got it in the mail a few months after you two graduated. You knew it was going to happen eventually but you didn’t want to admit it. 

Bucky was getting married. And he wanted you to come. He texted you. He insisted. Begged. Pleaded. 

He needed his best friend at his wedding. He needed you. 

But you would be smiling from the sidelines. Smiling as you saw the wedding dress slide against the ground next to you. 

He loved you. But he would love her just a little bit more.

[chasingmidnights]

Look, look, look. ❤️

Love, The Angel. 😇

I'm looking! I'm looking! *licking my lips*

Oooo, are you teasing me with college!bucky?!

[marvelouslizzie]

sooo, i read your fic "like someone i know" and it was absolutely hot AND amazing. i am obsessed with miscommunication of how they thought they hated/were against each other but not. 😭

if you do take requests, could you write a drabble or something of them finally dating and bucky still teasing the reader but obviously in love now? JBJDJSHS maybe make the entire class confused bc they're aware of their rivalry. i just LOVEEE the fluff after enemies/rivals to lovers plots. 🥹

if you don't take requests, it's okay!!! your fic was amazing and now i shall read more of your work to my heart's content!!!

Thank you so much for the kind words ❤️

Oh, I absolutely love this! I tried to write a cute drabble and I hope this works for you.

summary: Set after Like Someone I Know. You and your former academic rival, Bucky, begin a secret romantic relationship. What happens when you two have another exam?

pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

warnings: None actually. Pure bickering and a bit of fluff + no mention of y/n.

word count: 842

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

Another day, another test. You feel stressed by the number of lessons you had to study for this one. There were so many things, even though you went through all of them, you feel like you remember nothing. Nothing at all.

You open your bag and reach for your notes while your back rests against the cold wall. Maybe you will feel confident enough if you go through them one more time. Refreshing your memory does not hurt, right?

You start to read and repeat the most important info in your mind, trying to remember where and how you wrote them so you can use them during the exam, but it’s hard to concentrate. Especially, when Bucky’s voice is booming through the hallway. His laugh is so loud, and it annoys you because he isn’t laughing like that because of you. He’s just messing around with Steve, Sam, and Natasha, as usual. You are pretty sure Natasha is the one that made him laugh this loudly, and jealousy takes over you. 

“For the love of god, just stop talking for a sec! Some of us are trying to study here.” 

No one bats an eye. They are so used to you two bickering before and after exams, but Bucky immediately turns to you. You see the mischievous spark in his eyes. He’s so amused by the comment.

“Do you mean yourself, princess? Because I don’t see anyone else besides you studying right now.”

You make a sour face when you hear him calling you princess. That’s new. He usually calls you doll.

“Does it matter?”

“Matters to me.”

“Fine. I’m trying to study. Shut your mouth, kay? Bye.”

You try to turn back to your notes, but no, Bucky is not done bickering with you. Of course, he isn’t.

“Don’t worry, you will get a good grade. You always do.” It could’ve been such a sweet encouragement if his tone had been different. It just feels like he’s patronizing you.

“So what? I should stop studying?” 

“Yeah. Give yourself a break, doll.” He stops for a second, then dramatically adds. “Live a little.”

“Studying first, living later.” That kinda sounds like a promise, but no one but Bucky gets that.

You think you can finally read again, but Sam doesn’t let go of the conversation for some reason. He always likes to interject.

“Are you worried Bucky will get the best grade?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Steve sounds tired already.

“I would like to see him try.” After years of being rivals, your answer comes automatically. You forget there’s no need for this anymore.

“I got the best score last time, remember?” Luckily he doesn’t sound offended. Maybe he just missed your usual bickering.

“And I will make sure that doesn’t happen again.” You give him a fake smile. You really want to get the best score, even if that means beating your boyfriend.

“You always say that, but…” Suddenly he stops talking, and you wanna know how that sentence ends.

“But what?” 

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Come on!” You challenge him. He shouldn’t stop himself from voicing his thoughts just because you started to date a while ago. Your rivalry is still there. He should be free to say whatever he wants. “Say it.”

“Maybe later.” He resists.

"Come on, Barnes! Since when are you afraid to speak your mind?" Your taunting works like a charm.

“You always say that, but I never saw you upset because I beat you.”

You can’t help but smile. If someone is gonna get the better grade, it has to be Bucky. Any other option is simply not acceptable.

You feel the stares of Steve, Sam, and Natasha on you. They didn’t expect this turn of events. They have been holding their breaths to see your reaction. Are you gonna get mad? Snap back at him? Shove his flirtatious comment up his ass?

“If it's not me, then it has to be you, right?” You watch Bucky’s smile grow while others mumble with confusion.

“If not my girl, then who else?”

Oh, he really went there. He didn’t miss the opportunity to claim you, and even though you wanted to do that very differently, you can’t help but feel giddy about it.

You don’t say anything at first, slowly walking towards him. You stop right in front of him, staring into his pretty blue eyes. He doesn’t know what to expect, so you can see how puzzled he is. You stand on your tiptoes and gently place a kiss on his cheek. 

“Good luck, baby,” you whisper into his ear, then you just turn on your heels, like nothing happened. “See you after the exam.” You don’t look back, but you hear others talk.

“What the fuck just happened?” 

“Did she just-” 

“I told you they would eventually fuck, Rogers! Pay up!” 

“Language, Sam! We don’t even know…”

“Oh, they definitely did.” Natasha sounds rather amused.

“Fine!”

“Oh, come on! You betted on us?” Bucky’s charming voice is the last thing you hear before entering the classroom.

[lovelybarnes]

Found Waldo- B. Barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: does this suck?? help i fell asleep and i'm trying to post it again about: request!! bucky lookinf dor you in the crowd after a big win flirting and football

Bucky’s in the antenatal period of exhaustion, where adrenaline still thrums hard enough beneath his skin to forgo approaching aches and embrace the fresh scent of torn grass. Everything is glossy and idealized after a win; the air crisper, audience roar quieter but just as powerful.

He pants meters away from the goal, still reeling from the hum of the buzzer, the toe of his cleat still prickly warm from the ball. As has become routine, his focus moves from the game to the stands, eyebrows pulling as he searches a particular square of the stadium for his jacket wrapped around your shoulders.

It was a big game. It’s an even bigger win. He can already foresee how excited you’ll be.

His scouring is interrupted by his teammates’ noisy celebration, still far away but not for long. They’re louder than the audience but he can’t help but keep glancing back at the aisles, taken aback when he sees an empty space next to Wanda.

She catches his attention and points an emphatic arm down below to the lowest part of the stands, where you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet in the delighted dance you tend to do each time he scores. His chest hurts at the smile he can see from where he stands, the bright paint smeared across your cheeks wrinkling with them.

He raises a thumb to his nose, pushing into one side as nonchalantly as habit has allowed.

He’s far away and tiny but you catch the movement, eagerly mirroring his actions all the way from your place behind the railings, your movements far more frenetic than his. Your finger lingers, climbing down to your chest, pressing stoutly as a complement to the gesture. The distance does nothing to blur his beam, a leg shifting in your direction.

He doesn’t notice his teammates sprinting toward him in all directions like an overjoyed ambush. You can spot Steve tugging him by the shoulders and Pietro bouncing to his other side. Bucky blinks in shock but recovers quickly, accepting praise and joining celebration.

He’s as ecstatic as they are but his face never strays from your direction for too long, nodding along to something Sam says before glancing back at you.

When someone else turns to him, Bucky stops him as courteously as he can, squeezing his shoulder. “Can you give me a second?” he asks, already backing away. “Just a sec,” he promises.

You see him hold up a finger, his attention finally fully on Clint before he spins around and takes off toward you. You wonder if he’s insane as you realize what he’s doing, leaning over the metal bars to check how high up you are.

He has to look up to see you when he gets close enough, and he watches you drop to the floor and begin to force one of your arms out between the railings to touch him. “Bucky,” he hears you say. "Babe, that was—”

He doesn’t let you finish, taking ahold of a rail and pulling himself up. You pull your arm back in surprise, staring at him in bewilderment. “What are you doing?”

He winks at you from below, climbing until his hands can reach your face when you stand. His eyebrow quirks up, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “So, how’d I do?” he asks, cheeky.

You stare at him for a second, gaze thoughtful and brows creased. You don't try to mask it when you decide on your reaction, lips contorting into as restrained a smile as you could want to manage. "You were spectacular. I have never been more alert at a football game."

"I know," he says surrepticiously. "You called me babe," he whispers, eyes widening in theatric shock. "I've never heard you say it without disgust before, you must be really proud."

You roll your eyes through incredulous laughter, shaky fingers pulling stray hair away from his eyes. "I am," you profess gently, letting them trail all the way down to his ears, pulling him closer as gently as you can. "I can't believe you found me. I guess all those Find Waldo books your mom said you were obsessed with paid off, huh?" you tease, cocking your chin to flash the lined paint. "That's actually why I did stripes."

"Prettiest Waldo I've ever found," he tells you.

You wrinkle your nose and boo. "I would never forgive you for that if I wasn't so excited right now."

He laughs, dipping down to kiss you. "That wasn't too bad. I could do worse."

“Yeah, I know,” you tell him, chiding and sweet all at the same time when you press another to his lips.

He doesn’t let you pull away too fast. “One more,” he pleads, fingers aching to touch your skin but reluctant to stain it. He’s close enough to catch every little movement of your face, utterly grateful that he knows you well enough to recognize the way your face creases is to hide your lashes pinching in surrender. “Please?”

You cock your head at him in disbelief. “I’m not falling for it,” you tell him.

“I know,” he says.

“I’m not,” you insist, brushing your nose against his when you kiss him again.

You're not, you think. Weakly.

[navybrat817]

The man spread. 🤤

(Also the face he's making....)

(Also, hi! ❤️)

Hi, lovely! You know I couldn't resist doing something for Titan and Starshine for you!

Photogenic

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You love one of the photos Roxy took of Bucky, but he isn't having it.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, insecurities, kissing, established relationship, college love, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?)

A/N: Another small ficlet for Titan and Starshine.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the lovely @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

If there was one thing your roommate took seriously, it was her photography. It wasn’t just Roxy’s major, but her way of expressing herself. So when she asked for your opinion on the photos she took of Bucky and Steve, you answered as honestly and diplomatically as possible. You selected the ones you thought captured the project’s essence in the best possible way. You also reminded her that you weren’t a photographer, so your word shouldn’t hold a lot of weight.

She disagreed.

“I still don’t get why you asked for help. I don’t have a keen eye the way you do and I can barely take a photo on my phone,” you said, having to look away from one of the images of Bucky that seemed to stare right at you.

Though it was just a picture, it was like he knew you downplayed yourself and was trying to figure out why. He loved reminding you on your off days that you were one of the brightest students on campus. The compliments usually sent a wave of heat through your body, especially because he stated them unprompted and meant every word.

Roxy playfully rolled her eyes. “You know you don’t have to be a photographer to have a good eye. I not only value your opinion as my roommate, but also as Bucky’s girlfriend. You even managed to stay impartial, so give yourself a pat on the back.”

A laugh bubbled up as you nodded in agreement. While you did stare more at Bucky’s photos than Steve’s, your heart racing with each one that Roxy laid out, you choose an even amount between the two. It was only fair.

“Thank you for asking. I’m glad I could help,” you said. It meant a lot that she wanted your opinion on the finalized product,

“Me, too. And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me to throw Steve’s photos in the garbage,” she joked, carefully looking over one of the images of him hitting a punching bag. “I’m impressed.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you. Besides, Steve’s just as photogenic as Bucky,” you pointed out as her eyebrows shot up. “Okay, almost as photogenic.”

Steve was admittedly one of the most gorgeous men on campus. The blonde haired, blue eyed Adonis with the kind yet almost reserved smile turned many heads. So did Bucky. Two men who looked like a couple of heartbreakers from a glance, but were far from it.

“The camera really does love them,” Roxy stated, chewing her bottom lip as she scanned the images again with a careful eye. After a moment, she smiled from ear-to-ear. “I am so getting an A.”

“Yeah, you are,” you agreed. And the fact that she had such a tough time choosing which images to share when she normally had no problem doing so showed just how many good ones she had at her disposal.

There was one shot of Bucky, however, that she had no problem removing from the film hanger and handing to you to keep for yourself.

He had his powerful thighs spread and wasn’t quite biting his lip, but there was something irresistibly sexy about the pose.

What were you thinking about, Titan?

“Not that I don’t love me some manspreading, because I do, that wasn’t exactly the look that I was going for,” she joked, snapping you out of your thoughts and making you smile so wide your cheeks ached. “What exactly did you say to get him to pose like that?”

“Me? I didn’t say anything,” you smiled, ignoring Roxy’s knowing look as you glanced through the rest of the photos once more. At least, you didn’t think you said anything.

She didn’t believe that for a second. “You act so innocent, yet weren’t you warming his cock when he-”

“Hey, weren’t there supposed to be some photos of Bucky and I together?” You casually cut her off as you pressed your thighs together, wishing your boyfriend was there at that moment.

When Bucky pulled you into his lap during the shoot, you tried to keep your hands to yourself. It didn’t stop the two of you from kissing when Roxy instructed you to. Not that you needed any additional prompting. Bucky had the most kissable lips you ever had the pleasure of feeling against your own.

Your roommate smirked a little. “Oh, I have those tucked away so I can give them to you together,” she said, nudging you toward the door when your phone went off. She must’ve spotted that “Titan” popped up on the screen. “Go. Thanks again. Make good choices. Don’t let him impregnate you, but let him give you all the orgasms you deserve. We’ll allow those.”

“You’re ridiculous in the best way,” you giggled, making sure you had your keys and the photo. While neither you nor Bucky were ready for a family, it didn’t embarrass you in the least that Roxy encouraged the physical side of your relationship with him.

“Don’t forget to show him that photo!”

“I won’t forget!” you promised, smiling as you left and read Bucky’s message.

“Waiting downstairs, Starshine.”

“Be right there,” you messaged back, a skip in your step as you went to greet him outside of your building.

You found yourself staring into the depth of Bucky’s steel eyes as he stood a few feet in front of the door. Tall, athletic, and somehow yours, he managed to stand out in his jeans and t-shirt. Or maybe he stood out to you because he was your guy.

“There she is,” he warmly smiled as you walked toward him.

Suddenly, you felt self-conscious about your casual outfit before you remembered there was no need. Bucky had seen you in the mornings without makeup and still called you beautiful. “Here I am,” you smiled.

He nodded toward your right hand. “What’s that?”

“One of the photos Roxy took. She has others to share with us later,” you answered, holding it up to show him. His eyes narrowed as he stared at it, but gave nothing else away to show if he liked it or not. “But she said I can keep this.”

He pushed a hand back through his hair before he tried to take it from your hand. “Burn it,” he ordered.

That wasn’t the reaction you expected and it made you giggle. “Burn it? I will do no such thing,” you said, moving backward as he advanced on you. “Why should I get rid of this?”

“Because it’s a terrible picture of me,” he huffed.

He’s adorable.

“Not to stroke your ego since you’re acting a little vain, but you’re extremely photogenic. I don’t think you can take a bad photo,” you told him, taking another step back. “I’m keeping this forever because it’s very alluring.”

“There are plenty of other photos you can keep,” he argued as you held the picture out of reach again. His nostrils flared and it took everything in you not to giggle again before he frowned. “Did you say I look alluring?”

Wait, does he really think he looks bad? He’s James Buchanan Barnes. A god among men.

“Bucky Barnes, my Titan, yes. You’re sexy and enticing and I never thought I’d see you worked up over a picture that isn't bad to begin with,” you teased, almost jumping when your back hit the building door. It gave him the perfect opportunity to box you in with his hands, a rush of heat going through your body as he brought his face close to yours. “Do you honestly think you look bad? Because you don’t. Not to me.”

He brought his hand over to cradle your cheek and leaned in until his forehead touched yours. “I just wanna look good for you,” he admitted in a small voice.

It was almost embarrassing how wide your eyes got, so used to his confidence that you forgot that he sometimes had off days, too. Your heart ached to see his self-assurance shake for even a moment and you wondered if it was how he felt when you spoke negatively about yourself. It put things in perspective when you thought of it like that.

“You do. You always look good. I’m more attracted to you every day. To your looks, your brain, and your heart. You’re incredible,” you assured him, in no hurry to move away from the door. “And just like you remind me of how incredible you think I am, I’ll do the same for you.”

“You think my brain is attractive?” He asked, his usual smile back on his face as you nodded. You knew that was how happy you looked when he chased any of your insecurities away. “I sounded crazy, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn't," you said, putting a hand over his. "You sounded human."

“Thank you for making me feel better,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours as your heart pounded. “But I still think you should burn it.”

“Not a chance,” you smiled before his mouth covered yours.

Swept up in Bucky’s kiss, you both missed the fact that your TA was mere feet away, watching and wishing that it was him that you were kissing instead.

And if he has his way, you will.

Hmm. I wonder who the TA is. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[firefly-graphics]

Bucky Barnes - College

Please like and reblog if you use or save

Requested by @breakablebarnes​​ for the moodboard challenge

Aesthetics List

[pellucid-constellations]

Faking It

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes was in love with his girl—disgustingly, annoyingly so. Enough to start fights on the ice just to make sure he saw her after a game.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: This is FLUFF!! With HOCKEY MAN

a/n:​​​ This was originally something completely different but then I hated it so now it's all fluff and now I do not hate it. Pleaseeeee let me know what you think and if you enjoy it!! I love you thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

“Jesus Christ, Buck. Again?” 

Bucky grinned, split lip tightening uncomfortably. When he turned to his captain, he had the gall to act oblivious. “What do you mean, captain?” 

Steve gave him a disapproving look. “Give it up, pal. There was no need to pick a fight with that guy and you know it.” 

“He was talking shit about the team!” 

“They’ll always be a player talking shit about the team.” 

“Then why’re you breathing down my neck right now, huh? We won. Be happy, Cap,” Bucky encouraged, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Steve raised a brow back at him but was clearly fighting back a smirk. Bucky could tell by the way his eyes lifted, contrasting his deep—albeit fake—frown. 

In truth, Bucky had been looking for a fight. He’d been looking for a plethora of fights since the start of the season, and was usually quite successful with his venture. It had garnered him quite the reputation, but where the crowd saw it as a short-fuse on a large man, Steve saw it for what it really was. 

An opportunity to see you. 

And while Steve could appreciate the dedication, it made one of his best players ride out unnecessary time in the penalty box. 

“I am happy. Just not with you,” Steve clarified, knocking Bucky’s arm away. 

Bucky let out a sound close to a scoff. “Even with my extra time in the sin bin I still helped carry. It’s just part of the game, Steve. Gotta protect the team’s pride.” 

“Yeah,” Steve drawled sarcastically, stopping in front of the locker room doors. “I’m sure that was your reasoning. What was it last game? Someone said something about your ma?” 

“Hey, he did.” 

“They always do.”

Heavy footsteps created a commotion in the hall, the rest of the team finally catching up with the pair. They funneled their way into the room for showers and a fresh change of clothes, and Steve stood with his crossed arms leaning against the wall, somehow still directing an admonishing look towards Bucky amidst the crowd. Bucky did his best to look baffled by the unspoken accusation, but then Sam Wilson passed by and Bucky’s ploy was disintegrated. 

“Hey man,” Sam greeted, slapping a friendly hand against Bucky’s arm as he passed. “You let someone beat the shit out of you again so you could go see your girl?” 

Bucky’s scoff returned, but this time Steve was having none of it. He kicked off of the wall and went to follow the rest of the team into the locker room. Bucky watched with a grimace, not only caught, but put on display.

“You know,” Steve called over his shoulder, not expecting Bucky to follow. “You’re dating the girl now. You don’t gotta keep up with this whole schtick.” 

“I don’t have a schtick,” he called back. At the responding laugh from Steve, Bucky yelled, “I don’t!” but no one was listening to him. Or believing him. 

But fine. If his schtick involved you, in any capacity, Bucky would admit to having one. 

Some of what Steve said was right. Bucky was dating you now. You were his girl and that would imply total access to you all the time, whenever he wanted. He didn’t need to pick fights or feign injuries anymore (the latter never really worked anyways), because he had a key to your apartment. And you were in his bed more weekends than not. 

But, damn, were you busy right now. 

Bucky had never really considered how much schooling went into becoming a physical therapist until he met you. You were typically swamped with papers and tests and requests from Dr. Cho, but this past month had been exponentially worse thanks to finals. He had seen you about once a week if he was lucky, and that was a generous estimation. Add your crazy schedule to the alarming amount of away games he had over the past few weeks and he was champing at the bit to see you. 

Bucky just prayed it was you in the training room today and not Dr. Cho. His odds were pretty favorable considering the team’s main trainer didn’t usually stick around after games if there were no major injuries, but there was always the off chance she let her interns go home early. But, knowing you, you would be in that room until the rink lights went off. 

God, he loved you. Every overworked, high-strung bit of you. 

He even loved the scolding look you shot him as he pushed open the training room doors, his bruises and cuts on full display. You dropped the pen you were tapping against an overflowing notebook and rocketed out of your rolling stool, and Bucky adored the way you stomped over to him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the curse you clearly wanted to let free. 

“Hey, baby,” Bucky smiled, this time ignoring the sting in his lip. “Funny seeing you here.” 

You huffed, bringing careful fingers up to his chin. “Not very funny,” you mumbled. “Not when you look like someone hit you with their car.” 

Bucky let you fuss for a moment, following your touch as you turned his head back and forth and examined his split knuckles. This was your job, so obviously he let you do it, but he enjoyed watching you. So he didn’t stop you from lifting his jersey up to inspect his middle, because how else would he catch the cute way you scrunch your nose up in concentration? If he pulled his hands away when you started testing the range of motion in his wrists, when else would he be able to track your lips as you softly counted and mouthed gentle confirmations? 

Never. Because you were so damn busy. 

“Missed you,” Bucky said after sneaking a kiss on your forehead while you were prodding at the bruise on his collarbone. “I’ve been missing you a lot.” 

You let a small smile interrupt the disgruntlement on your face. Bucky grinned at the change, pressing another kiss to your hair while he still could. 

“Did you miss me enough to send a right hook into that guy’s jaw?” 

“Yes.” 

Your smile was gone again. Now you looked aghast. “Bucky.” 

“What?” he exclaimed, sliding his torn hands from your healing ones to wrap you in his embrace. “You want me to lie instead? Okay, fine. No, sweetheart, I didn’t start a fight just to have an excuse to see you. That guy got all these punches in on me because I’m out of practice, is all. I don’t think about you every waking second of my life, and while we’re at it, no I did not use your shampoo this morning because I miss how—”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, resting your forehead on the divot in his chest. “I get it. Thanks for being truthful.” 

Bucky relished in the feel of you. He had been slightly worried that his state would cause you to be more upset than anything. If you weren’t so tired right now, there was a high chance you’d be yelling at him because of his recklessness instead of resting against his chest. So Bucky jumped at the opportunity, trailing one of his hands up to cup the back of your head. He craned his neck down, burying his face into the juncture of your neck. 

He hadn’t been lying about the shampoo. 

“I miss you too. Even if you act like an idiot sometimes,” you mumbled against his jersey. 

Something in Bucky felt lighter, warm. “Acting like an idiot’s the only way I get to see my girl.” 

You hummed. “Sorry ‘m so busy.” 

You had to be exhausted. Not even a single reprimand had tumbled from your mouth. Bucky had expected at least three. 

“When’s the last time you slept, baby?” Bucky kept his voice low, his thumb making unconscious circles against your hair. 

“I don’t know. In the night.” 

“Okay, thanks smart ass.” Bucky jostled you a bit until your eyes met his. “I meant when did you last take a break? Get a good night’s sleep?” 

You sighed, gaze trailing over his face. “Let me fix you up. Then we can play twenty questions.” 

“Baby—”

“No, Buck, this is the training room, if you haven’t noticed,” you quipped, stepping back and rifling through a few drawers. “Take a seat and I’ll fix you. That’s my job.” 

“Well, what about my job?” he grumbled back. 

“You have failed at your job. Your job is hockey and you instead played human punching bag.” 

“Not that job. My other job. The one where I take care of you.” 

You spun on your heel, a basket of supplies resting on your hip. The sweater that engulfed your frame had the university’s logo stamped across the front, but instead of jeans or slacks—the usual uniform for PT interns—you wore leggings. Your hair was pulled back in the most endearing, pretty mess, and Bucky’s chest hurt as he looked at you. 

“My tired girl,” he hummed, bringing his hand up to your cheek as you pushed him down on the exam chair. He sat if only to appease you, his feet still flat on the floor even with the tall seat.

“I’m only a little tired,” you weakly fought. Bucky chuckled in response, sanitary paper crinkling beneath him. “Now let me clean you up.” 

You snapped gloves onto your hands and Bucky fought back a petulant whine. If he had been any other member of the team, those gloves would have been on the second they walked in the door. He should be grateful, then, that you only put them on when it was time to tend to his wounds, but he wasn’t. He missed you too much to feel latex instead of your skin. 

Bucky’s lip stung as you cleaned it, but he hardly flinched. If he moved, he would miss the pretty way you bit into your lip as you stared at him. 

“Remember when I’d be in here all the time?” he asked when you turned back down to grab antibiotic cream. 

You let out a tired laugh. “How could I forget? You picked a fight every game. If that didn't work you’d come stumbling in here complaining about a torn ACL or whatever. Big liar.” 

“I wouldn’t call it lying.” 

The smile you gave him was replicated on his own face. 

“You were literally lying.” You dabbed the cream on his lip, and then moved to the cut on his cheek. “You would come limping in here and then I’d see you an hour later running out to the parking lot.” 

“You wouldn’t look at me if I wasn’t injured.” 

“It was my job, Bucky!” you laughed, eyes giving away your amusement. “I wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with the players. I’m pretty sure Cho only lets us be together because you wouldn’t leave her alone otherwise.” 

Bucky moved his hands from his thighs to your waist, tugging you closer as you worked. “Hey, sometimes drastic measures are needed.” 

“You called her multiple times a day… bought her an edible arrangement. Wait, didn’t you offer to drive her kids to school a few times?” 

“It worked, didn’t it,” he posed, nudging his nose against your cheek. You giggled, lightly slapping his arm to get away. 

“The edible arrangement was a good touch,” you relented. 

Bucky released you as you wiggled from his grip, flitting around the training room to put supplies back. He spotted your backpack in the corner of the room, unzipped with the water bottle tipping out. When you sat down at the computer to document his care, which he found a bit ridiculous (you only put a bandaid on his face), Bucky walked over and gathered your things. He did so slowly so you wouldn’t notice; you probably had plans to stay at the rink for another few hours, and that was not okay with him. 

With a final zip and your water bottle now standing upright, Bucky meandered over to your seated position. He hooked his chin over your shoulder as you worked, leaning over and tapping your phone screen for the time. His heart twisted warmly in his chest when he saw a picture of himself smiling under the 8:00 pm displayed on the homescreen. 

After all the pining and work it took to get you, Bucky often felt this wasn’t real. 

God, he loved you. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” you whispered, clicking away at the computer. “I still have some charting to do. Peter hit his head yesterday and I have to do the follow up work.” 

Still in his uniform, Bucky wrapped you up from behind. Now you would both need a shower and he could get you to leave. He kissed the back of your head, and then your temple, and then your cheek as he craned his neck to watch you work. You smelled like fresh laundry and books and the subtle hint of your perfume.

“Parker’s fine. He was up and playing today. Let’s go home, baby,” Bucky murmured, most of his words spoken against your skin. 

“I know he’s okay. But head injuries are a completely different protocol and I have to—” 

“I miss you,” he reiterated. “And you’re working too hard. All the lights are off in the rink ‘cept for this one. Come back to my place. Let me take care of you.” 

“Why don’t you shower and change first? I’ll leave with you once you finish.” 

Bucky spun your stool around suddenly, one hand on your waist, the other reaching back to steady himself on the desk now at your back. “Oh no, don’t try to pull that on me. I get back in here, you’re gonna tell me you started something new you can only finish on the PT computer and you can’t leave for another hour. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

You let out a quick sigh, caught. “Well, what about—” 

“Nope,” Bucky interrupted. He used his far hand to shut the facility computer and then guided you up. “You’re coming home with me. You’re gonna sit in the car while I drive you to my apartment and then we’re gonna take a shower together and I’m gonna make you feel so good you don’t even remember what a concussion is.” 

“Bucky,” you chastised, hiding your face in his shoulder. 

His laugh shook your head. “Still so damn shy.” He reached down to grab your bag, slinging it over his shoulder and placing a hand on the back of your neck, meeting your averted gaze. “Just me in here, baby.” 

“I know. But you don’t have to be so vulgar.” 

“Vulgar? Sweetheart, if you want vulgar I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna do to you the second we—” 

You slapped your hand over his mouth, careful for the delicate skin there. Still, Bucky was sure you could feel his smile against your skin, and he fought back an even bigger one when he saw the embarrassed twist of your brow. 

Slowly, he pried your wrist down, kissing the palm of your hand on the way. “Sorry,” he whispered, not sorry in the slightest.

You pursed your lips, flustered. “You’re such an antagonizer.”

Bucky could do this every day and never grow tired of it. It had been months now and he found himself only wanting you more. 

“Can’t help it. I love you.”

Your faux annoyance morphed into a bashful smile, the kind Bucky remembered from his time faking injuries. It was reminiscent of when you were trying not to laugh at his jokes, or smile at his flirting, or give him any reaction he was looking for. 

But he always got what he wanted in the end. 

And, more than anything, he wanted you. 

“That one do the trick?” Bucky asked. “Am I finally getting my girl to come home with me?” 

When you looked up at him with raised brows and a smile twisted up at the corners, he knew you’d given up. Perfect timing, too, because—in all honesty—Bucky had been punched in the side during his on-ice tussle, and his ribs were starting to hurt. You were going to be pissed when you saw the bruise form tomorrow morning, but you would be pissed in his bed, so it was worth it to Bucky.

“I have to get a little bit of homework done when we get there,” you reasoned, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend. 

He threw his hands up in surrender, dropping one down over your shoulders as you both walked out. “Okay, okay. Homework at my place, I got it.” 

“That comes first, Bucky. Before anything else. Shower, then homework, and then… other things.” 

“I know what first means, baby.” 

“Good.” 

But Bucky had other plans, and they did not involve homework. He was pretty sure you were ahead, anyways. Like, weeks ahead, actually. 

“You eat dinner yet?” he asked, fishing his keys from his pocket. 

You looked up at him, incredulous. “What did I just say?” 

“What?” he defended, tugging you closer as the wind in the parking lot whipped at your clothes. “I can’t make sure my girl’s had dinner? What am I allowed to do?”

You only scoffed, tucking yourself further into his side. “Keep me warm.” 

“Always, baby.”